Reva
by Teej
Summary: Even vacations for Kostmayer are anything but normal


Reva  
  
Wiscasett, Maine  
  
The sound of the bell announced to the owner of Otter Rock Resort that another visitor had arrived. He looked up from his desk and regarded the latest tourist. Somewhat under six feet tall, a man had stepped inside the office and glanced cautiously, but curiously, around. He had a large army duffel bag hooked around one shoulder and a bemused smile on his face.  
  
"Can I help you?" The resort owner asked. The man nodded, stepped up to the desk and swung his duffel to his feet.  
  
"Yeah," he said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. "I have a reservation."  
  
The owner raised an eyebrow, figuring the guy to just be one of the many 'weekenders' to pass through. The man slipped a credit card out of his wallet, followed by a New York Driver's license.  
  
"The name, sir?" The resort owner asked as he flipped his ledger open.  
  
"Kostmayer." The other replied. "Michael Kostmayer. I have a reservation for three weeks."  
  
The owner felt a little startled and saw, neatly penciled in, the name Kostmayer for a rental cabin. He was suddenly all pleasantness and business.  
  
"Cabin #3, the one closest to the beach. It's a nice cabin." He pulled out a couple of papers and looked up at the young man. "I need you to fill out a few forms, here. You're going to be with us for a while." He said, smiling.  
  
"Yup." Mickey replied, looking the forms over and picking up a nearby pen. "I hear the fishing is real good."  
  
"Some of the best! Can't beat Wiscasett for both saltwater and freshwater fishing. There are hundreds of lakes back up the hills, full of trout, bass, you name it and the salmon runs look promising this year. Then there's sea bass, ling cod, rock cod. Lobster and crabbing too if that's your thing. There are some good clamming beaches around too. A little bit of everything for everybody." The owner busied himself with charging the expense to Mickey's card.  
  
"Just so long as they're biting, I don't care." Mickey replied, smiling lopsidedly. "I'm driving the rental out there." He added and nodded his head out the large window towards a newer model car. "Also, I may get messages here, it's important that they get to me." He shrugged slightly looking steadily at the owner with hazel eyes. "Duty, you know."  
  
"Military?" The owner asked, knowing the area was full of personnel from Bangor. Mickey nodded as the owner slipped the cabin keys onto the counter. Mickey signed the forms, turned them around for him, gathered the keys and smirked.  
  
"You could say that," he replied dryly as the owner tore off Mickey's receipt and handed it to him.  
  
"Thank you, Mister Kostmayer!" He said cheerfully. "If you need a rental boat, try Vernal's Rentals over by the local market. He and I are old friends. You can buy bait over there too."  
  
Mickey let the Resort owner ramble on as he neatly folded his receipts and tucked them into his wallet. The credit card and license quickly followed. Mickey nodded at the appropriate places as he put his wallet away, then picked up his duffel bag.  
  
He really wasn't paying that much attention, any more. Only one thing mattered. He was on vacation. Three weeks of nothing but fishing. That's all that mattered. Three weeks all to himself, the Company be damned. Mickey had well earned this vacation. An unusual early summer one at that. Though Control insisted he not stray too far, to Mickey's annoyance; he let it slide, as he had found himself a nice secluded, lazy little resort town to hide in. As he ambled out of the office, he blinked at the bright sunshine filtering through the tall conifers and felt the tension in his shoulders ease.  
  
Three weeks, all to himself.  
  
Wiscasett was set back in amongst the hundreds of thousands of crags and coves that made up the intricate Maine Coastline. There were an unlimited number of isolated spots where Mickey could indulge in his passion for fishing. The area was full of trails and paths wending in and out of the thick cover of trees, leading off to who knows where and inviting the traveler to come and explore. Mickey sighed at last, glanced at the cabin keys and ambled his way down one of the trails towards a cabin that sat near the beach. He smiled at the sound of the surf as he walked around to the door facing the water. Letting himself inside, he began looking around, dumping his duffel at the foot of the bed inside his rental cabin.  
  
It was small, clean, and functional. That's all that mattered, he thought as he nodded in satisfaction. For him it would be home for three weeks. He looked at the bed. The first thing he planned on doing. He smirked, setting a hand in the center of the bed and testing its bounce. Turning away from it, he jumped and dropped, sprawled, on his back, comfortably on the bed. He wriggled his head into the pillow and sighed, draping his forearm over his eyes.  
  
He had earned this nap.  
  
  
  
  
  
Wiscasett had its fair share of summer tourists and supplied Mickey with a boat, bait, local gossip and some surprisingly good eats. He enjoyed himself, roaming around, doing whatever he pleased, getting up whenever he wanted, and doing whatever he cared to. It was his vacation.  
  
When he needed to restock on food, he drove the rental car into town, to the local store perched at the edge of the cove. A few older folks, obviously residents of the area, milled around trading shop talk. Mickey wandered about, ignoring the sound of the bell clanging as another customer entered the store behind him. Barely keeping an ear tuned to the sounds of the talking, he made his selections before heading for the register.  
  
A girl stood ahead of him, paying cash for two big sacks of groceries and a bag of cat food. She had to be a nearly a foot shorter than him. She gathered up her bags awkwardly and turned for the door. Mickey couldn't help but notice the long blonde hair caught back at the nape of her neck with a burgundy pony band. His rather keen sense of observation took in the jeans, soft brown shoes, denim shirt and trim, almost skinny, slenderness. Something, however, jarred the picture. Mickey focused on the attendant and dug out his wallet to pay for his purchases. It was early summer, the day promising to be a pleasant 80 odd degrees. Why would anyone be wearing a turtleneck?  
  
He snatched up his purchase as he heard the sound of bags being juggled and caught up with the girl at the door.  
  
"Here, let me get that for you!" he offered as he caught the door and held it open. He smiled his pixyish, lopsided grin at her. The girl, half stooped to catch the cat food bag as it slid, glanced up at him. She had light grey eyes, set in a slender face. Looking up at him in surprise she blushed, a tiny smile touching her lips. Mickey, not entirely unhandsome himself, turned on the charm.  
  
"Can I help you carry any of that?" he offered as he flipped a stray lock of his own brown hair out of his eyes. The girl smiled at him, straightened up and shook her head no. As she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she nodded her head in thanks and turned to go.  
  
Mickey blinked. She hadn't said a word. He felt a little deflated as he let the door shut behind him and watched the girl walk across the lot to an old brown Pick-up. She loaded her things and climbed into the driver's seat. He still stood there as she drove by and felt a little better when she waggled her fingers at him by way of saying good-bye. He sighed, chalking the girl up to local character. He wandered off to his own car. the fish were calling.  
  
  
  
Two days later, the fuel line on the rental boat broke and, as Mickey happened to be close in to town, he rowed his way to the dock where he rented the boat from. The morning being glorious, people milled about doing the tourist thing. A cacophony of gulls laughed and cried ahead as folks tossed up whatever was available to feed them, while others prepared for fishing trips of their own, or bustled about on private business. Mickey paid no attention to them at all, being fully occupied with the broken line. It turned out to need long term repair, so the old man who ran the place gladly rented him another boat, which was moored at their furthest dock. Several spare boats bobbed at their moorings, and hardly any people stood around near them. He ambled over and spied someone sitting on the steps that led down to the plank walkway. As he neared, to his delight, he recognized the girl from the store.  
  
  
  
  
  
Lying on the ground above her head was a sketchpad and a pen. Another pad lay opened to a blank page across her lap. She idly twirled a pencil in her fingers. She stared intently at a nearby boat, where Mickey could see that a catch of fish lay unattended. Next to the boat was an unidentified mound, covered with a tarp. His spirits lifted as he approached her.  
  
"Hey!" he greeted.  
  
The hand with the pencil flew up sharply to stop him. Bewildered, Mickey's eyes scanned instantly around taking in everything at a glance. He froze in his tracks. Nothing seemed out of place, except maybe this girl still sporting a turtleneck, (albeit of a different color), despite the warm weather. Mickey's eyes caught movement. He frowned, annoyed as a familiar tension took over his body and his weight shifted forward, balancing more on his toes, ready to drop his poles and tackle and go for his gun, lying snugly in its holster under his left arm.  
  
The tarp covered mound suddenly rippled. Warily Mickey watched as the edge of the tarp flipped and waved. To his surprise a slim, dark brown, body eeled out from under the tarp and slipped noiselessly into the water. It swam towards them. Peripherally, Mickey caught a second movement as the girl's hand dropped to the pad on her lap. Fascinated, yet still tense, he watched as a river otter, if he wasn't mistaken, reappeared at the edge of the boat where the fish lay invitingly. Not a creature to miss opportunities, the enticement was too much for him to resist. Propelled seemingly by some giant hand from underneath, the otter bailed over the side of the boat, fully facing them. Again Mickey's eyes caught movement as the pencil in the girl's hand flashed. A quick sniff at the fish, a glance up and the otter bit deep into one. With a flick of his powerful tail, he splashed over the side of the boat and disappeared. Astonished, Mickey looked down at the girl, but stopped short again.  
  
Leaning over her, he watched as the pencil in her hand developed a mind of its own. Like a snapshot, the face of the otter began to come alive just as he had bit into his purloined fish, his wild dark eyes dared them to challenge him. Droplets of water fell off his bewhiskered face. Each stroke from the pencil brought the creature more and more to life, until Mickey would have sworn it could move. A few things struck Mickey then. One, being the scarcity of otters, and two, this girl sitting on the dock was a bona fide lightning artist. He'd heard of them, people who could look at something once and quick as you please, draw it. Sort of a combination artist and photographic memory rolled into one. Where had he heard about them before?  
  
"Wow!" he breathed, glancing back at the newly robbed boat, gently rocking on the waves. "I guess I'd better make sure my catches are stowed away!"  
  
He looked back down at her. She gazed up at him, smiled brilliantly and pointed at a sign on a dock post with her pencil. In bold white letters on a red background it warned; 'Beware of the Otter.' Mickey chuckled.  
  
"May I?" he asked impulsively and nodded at the drawing as he set his gear down. She agreed and lifted the notebook to him as she stood up.  
  
"I'm impressed," he said truthfully as he studied the picture, amazed indeed, it had been done so fast. "Do you paint too?" he asked and flipped the page. When she didn't respond, he looked at her. Blushing, she waggled a hand at him, self-consciously tucking a long straying strand of hair behind one ear.  
  
"These are really good!" he said admiringly, flipping to a few more drawings, all of the otter, apparently since he had appeared there that morning. "You should get them published," he smiled at her, handing the tablet back. She flushed a little more, as the corners of her mouth curled wryly. Still she said nothing, turning gracefully to reach down and pick up the other tablet and pen. Mickey felt intrigued, and liked it. He held out a hand, taking the initiative.  
  
"I'm Mickey."  
  
As she straightened, she shifted the tablets to one arm, looked a little tentative, and then shook his hand.  
  
"I'm Reva." she replied.  
  
As she studied him, he noticed her stiffen slightly. Her voice was too soft and too low, Mickey thought. She had spoken barely over a whisper. She certainly didn't seem to be shy, she acted totally natural. There was something wrong with her voice and her eyes seemed to darken as if a shutter came down.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Reva. You live around here, or are you traveling?" he asked, seeing where he could go.  
  
"Other side of the point," she whispered, nodding her head towards a spurt of land knifing its way across the bay.  
  
"Over by the rental cabins?" he asked, delving further, hopeful. She smiled slightly, looked a little uncomfortable and then nodded yes.  
  
"That's where I'm staying," he added. She lifted her chin in response and asked no questions back. He got the feeling those grey eyes were trying pick him apart. Mickey scrambled. Bobbing his head at the boat he asked.  
  
"That otter, isn't it a bit unusual for them to be around? Aren't they supposed to be up a river or something? I thought they were rare?"  
  
A soft exhale of laughter greeted his ears.  
  
"Yes!" she whispered a bit raspily. "He's a local boy. We don't know where he came from." She smiled brightly  
  
"Someone's pet maybe?" he asked. He saw no sign of the critter; he looked back at the girl.  
  
"No," she replied, shifting her foot. "He's too wild, no one can get near him."  
  
"Except you." Mickey beamed his lopsided boyish grin at her, his face quirkily showing off his good humor. She blushed, averting her gaze. He liked it.  
  
"Only because I keep still."  
  
Mickey heard a slight catch in her voice then. A self-conscious gesture towards her throat got his attention. A flash of discomfort further darkened her grey eyes, then just as quickly passed.  
  
"When I move, he's gone," Her whisper grew harsh.  
  
"Touch of laryngitis?" he asked, easily and friendly like. She turned her head away and tried not to feel too embarrassed. He noticed her shoulders tensing.  
  
"Permanently," she replied, letting her hand go to her throat and rub gently. She didn't look at his face. He blinked, a frown touching his eyebrows.  
  
"Some sort of accident?"  
  
Her lips pursed together, before she smiled wanly.  
  
"Wrapped a car around a tree." Somehow she couldn't look him in the eyes just then.  
  
"Ouch," he cracked.  
  
"It's okay, really," she glanced at him, a bit uncomfortable. "I just don't have much of a voice left." The grey eyes darkened and looked away from him. Something niggled at the back of Mickey's mind. An awkward pause developed.  
  
"Those really are very good drawings," he commented trying to recover the conversation. "Do you have them published at all?"  
  
"Yes," she replied with her strange whisper. "I do, actually." She briefly looked back at him, hunched her shoulders together and clutched the drawings tightly to her. She cast a glance down at her watch then at her truck.  
  
"Uh oh!" she exclaimed. "I've got to go!" She looked up at him apologetically. "It's been nice to meet you... Mickey?" she asked uncertainly, gazing at him, wide eyed, innocent, embarrassed.  
  
"Yeah," he said as she took a step back.  
  
"I'm late for a meeting," she added, moving further.  
  
"Sure, no problem. See you around maybe?" he asked. She shrugged, waggled her fingers at him again, by way of saying good-bye. She turned and trotted off to the truck.  
  
  
  
As he watched her go, Mickey smirked slightly to himself. She had just very effectively lied to get away from him. Typical, he surmised, sighing in resignation. Sometimes all the charm in the world couldn't get you past square one. Not that he was even trying to get anywhere.. Bending, he scooped up his fishing gear, heading for the boat.  
  
45 minutes later he bobbed contently in a secluded inlet, pole out, feet kicked back, head nestled in his arms and returned to the little enigma presenting itself in the form of a girl named Reva. Something didn't sit right and his brain had doggedly latched onto it. It simply refused to let it go.  
  
  
  
  
  
Not far away, on a dirt track, Reva shifted the truck into neutral, killed the engine and coasted forward until she could spot the lone boat. Knowing full well the surrounding trees and scrub kept her practically invisible. She leaned forward and rested her arms across the steering wheel. She gazed thoughtfully at the lone man in the boat, a slight frown of disquiet on her face.  
  
He certainly had charm and boyish handsomeness. And looked to be in very good shape under the blue T-shirt, windbreaker and jeans. Reva wasn't fooled. She knew what he was.  
  
She'd seen the tell-tale lift on one shoulder marking a shoulder harness. She'd seen it too much. She closed her eyes briefly at a memory. Add to that his dark eyes, too carefully shuttered, despite the good humor sparkling from them. Oh, he seemed sincere, conversational too, but she simply knew better. He definitely was no cop. Not many tourists showed up who packed a concealed weapon. With what she knew from before... She caught herself, her eyes narrowed as she continued her study of Mickey Kostmayer. He had been trying to gain some sort of information. Yet in a "get-to know-you" type of way. Strange. She felt irritated, suspicious. The catch in her throat warned her that she'd aggravated her larynx in talking to him. She wouldn't have a voice by the afternoon if she didn't go home and take care of it. She gazed at Mickey and watched the light breeze lift his longish light brown hair. She sighed and climbed out of the truck, turned, braced herself against the doorframe and pushed it backwards until it began to roll gently. Mickey never heard the engine catch a few moments later as she drove away.  
  
  
  
Mickey wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to his fishing pole as he mused on the enigma of Reva. The lapping of wavelets hitting the boat and surrounding rocks, the occasional gull, maybe the slap of a fish jumping, the creaking of the oars and motor in their casings, all were lulling him into a doze. Yet Reva kept intruding into his thoughts.  
  
That she had some sort of injury was apparent. Both by voice and the self- conscious gestures at her throat. Add to that her never asking him a question, or giving up much about herself. Now that he thought of it, she seemed to get uncomfortable with him once she had a good look at him. Then there were the drawings. His mind still marveled at the accuracy and vitality of just the few he had seen. A lightning artist.  
  
Some were employed by the media to cover those court cases where cameras were never allowed to go. Others were employed in police departments to help people trying to describe assailants. Most made careers for themselves in graphics or commercial arts. Some even did the complex storyboards for movies and television shows. Able to make quick, on the spot changes to satisfy a director or writer's whims. Personally, he had never seen them, nor heard of their cases, but Mickey did know that Control had a few tucked away somewhere in the Company. His knowledge ended there. Reva had mentioned she had been published. Perhaps she was just a commercial artist. Somehow that didn't sit quite right with him; however, his musing simply wouldn't reveal what that might be.  
  
She avoided him, that was for sure. He sighed and muttered to himself. He had to be making mountains out of molehills. Reva was a local girl who happened to draw, had a bad accident, couldn't talk and brushed him off as gently as you please.  
  
"Probably married and has twelve kids!" he grumbled, yet didn't recall seeing a ring on her finger. So why couldn't he get the girl off his mind?  
  
Fishing that day turned out to be a total bust.  
  
  
  
Further evidence for Mickey's suspicions that Reva tried to avoid him came the next day. He had finished eating breakfast when his eyes caught sight of her truck pulling into the parking lot fronting the cafe'.  
  
She had to pass him. Curious, he sipped coffee and watched her retrieve a pet carrier from the front of her truck. Through the front grill he could see an enormous, dark cat. Turning, she caught sight of him gazing at her. Mickey nodded, raised his coffee cup and wondered why on earth her face had gone totally white. Hastily she looked away, her knuckles tight on the handle of the carrier. Shifting his own eyes away, he could see her swallowing hard, hefting the awkward burden. Her foot caught the door to her truck to close it and slammed it a little hard. The cat in the carrier shifted in alarm. Reva struggled with the wobbly burden a moment, half- bent over the carrier. Mickey could see, peripherally, as she tried to calm the cat and moved quickly to the sidewalk. She didn't even look his way as she hurried past him to get to the nearby vet's office. Mickey frowned; the very sight of him had caused her to react in fear. What on earth for? Piqued, Mickey dropped a pair of bills on the table, downed the last of his coffee and got up.  
  
  
  
He moved into the card shop next door from the cafe' towards her parked truck. A convenient rack of birthday cards provided enough of a blockade to prevent her from seeing him, but he hauled out a battered baseball hat, crammed in his back pocket, just in case. One element to successful disguise being to slightly change one thing about oneself. He tossed his hair back, nestled the hat on his head and moved to where he could see her come toward the truck. He hadn't waited five minutes when she emerged and began, very carefully, to look around to see where he was. She pulled her hair loose from its band with one hand and nervously ran her fingers through the long curls with the other. She distinctly scanned up and down the streets, her eyes registering fear as she moved cautiously towards her truck. Mickey looked down at the cards as she passed by the window. She checked around again, jerked the door open, clambered inside and gunned the engine. As she backed out she looked into the window of the shop and their eyes briefly met.  
  
The impression from her that registered most in Mickey's mind was that the baseball cap didn't work.  
  
  
  
Sheer terror coursed through her and nearly caused Reva to put her foot through the floorboard. Visibly shaking from the adrenaline rushing through her veins, she began forcing herself to breathe normally, failing miserably as her breath came out in gasps. She leaned over, poked at the glove box and tried to watch her driving at the same time. She reached in, found an odd bundle and pulled it to her. She glanced at it once, reassured that she had grabbed her gun.  
  
  
  
Mickey couldn't bring himself to go fishing. Reva fully occupied his attention, now. Sticking to the trails around his cabin, Mickey didn't pay the slightest attention to where he was going. A ton of questions pounded at his skull, the foremost wondering what had caused such fear in a local country girl.  
  
Several days passed before Mickey located her home. She did live next door to the resort where he was staying. A light drizzly rain had set in and Mickey's restlessness drove him out of the lonely cabin. He had this thing about not being cooped up. The myriad paths surrounding the area cried out to him and he found himself prowling the one heading to the beach. The rain, a gentle warm one, did little to penetrate too far into the trees so by sticking to the forest paths he stayed relatively dry. Several minutes of walking brought him to the beach leading to the long finger of land cutting the resort off from sight of the little town itself. A cove within a cove greeted his eyes, as did a gazebo. He paused, taking in the view, hunched in his jacket.  
  
A semi circle of clearing revealed a sea cottage to his immediate left, back against the trees. A series of beautifully kept gardens swept around the house to the immaculate green lawn. From the lawn's edge, wild grass took over, leading to the beach. Dead ahead lay the viewpoint. A long boardwalk that started at the beach grass, wended its way to the shoreline then continued on out several yards before it ended at the gazebo perched neatly on its stilts. Adirondack chairs and a table provided furnishings. Several flower boxes supplied a riot of pink, blue, and white flowers that spilled in delighted abandon over their edges despite the grey, rainy June day. To the gazebo's far right, more towards the entrance of the cove itself, sat a lone float upon which two seagulls huddled. Mickey gazed thoughtfully at the place and glanced left towards the front of the house. Parked out in the driveway was the old brown truck. Noting that the trail went on past her beach and up to the point, he continued walking, intent on exploring further on.  
  
  
  
Sitting in the drawing room, Reva was bent over a work in progress when she saw someone walking across her beach. It wasn't uncommon for people to wander across it to reach the point. The plank walkway had access for people to cross over it as they came to and from the spit of land blocking her from Wiscasett. Several couples and a group of kids had already been along there earlier in the morning. However, when she looked up and spied Mickey ambling along his way to the point, Reva froze.  
  
Very carefully she pulled her hand away from the drawing table and watched the solitary figure as he climbed up and over the boardwalk. An ink- loaded, antique stylus had just been poised to draw on a new section of her drawing. Reva carefully dipped the ink away into its bottle as her hand began to shake before she set the stylus down. She knew from past experience that no one could see into her place from where he strolled so she watched him, going cold with dread. Mickey had to be observing her, she thought. If indeed he was, he was damned good at hiding it.  
  
She glanced out into her living room at a computer, frowned and clutched her arms. Why here? Why now? Her life was going along fine. So why was there an agent wandering across her beach, trying to get to know her? So far as she knew no one was seeking her... He had made sure of that when she dropped out of sight so many years ago. Besides, it had been a couple of years now since she had had any contact with him, ever since... Reva caught her hand sliding across her throat. She got up from the table and watched as Mickey disappeared into the trees.  
  
Mickey simply couldn't be an agent on vacation; or could he? Reva sighed; he seemed to be out there only to enjoy himself. Besides, she was entirely too suspicious, she had to be. All the same, she needed to know something. She stared at the computer, wondering if she should say something to Mickey or go ahead and make contact with... Reva stopped herself. That could mean the total disruption of her home.  
  
She wasn't willing to give up all the time, effort, and money she had spent in fixing the cottage up specifically for her. Besides, it had been her therapy while recuperating from the injuries to her throat. A place to unwind after hours of intense therapy to learn Ameslan for those times when her voice would fail her. Someplace secluded where she could cry, laugh, get mad or just soak in the beauty of her rugged little spot of coastline. She knew she could lose it all with one tap of the finger on that computer. Reva glanced outside. Better to go and tackle the bull by the horns herself. She vanished a moment into her bedroom, then she found her coat and went outside.  
  
She took a longer path skirting the front of the point, which enabling her to check and make sure no one else was out exploring. Satisfied that only Mickey was headed to the scenic spot, she took the nearest shortcut that led up to it.  
  
  
  
Mickey, lost in thought, gazed out at Wiscasett, hands shoved deep into his windbreaker pockets. Reva had lied to him earlier about needing to go to a meeting, and as he considered it, probably lied about the car accident too. Then there was that reaction in town. What could scare her so bad? He wondered what on earth made the girl so suspicious. Had she been injured under doubtful circumstances? He heard someone scrambling up the incline. Turning away from the view, he wasn't very surprised to see her. A mingled look of fear and determination had hardened her face. She studied him a fraction of a second. Her eyes then drifted quickly around the view point as she checked for other people.  
  
She didn't have a sweater on this time, but instead had a high collared shirt buttoned to the top. Her long curls were caught loosely back at her neck. Reva just stared at him, her fingers tensing, and slowly set her foot down to stand up straight.  
  
"Decided not to run this time?" he asked dryly. Reva carefully pursed her lips and swallowed. He pulled his hands out of his coat and held them out to her. "I've got nothing to hide," he added. She said nothing, still, but he could see her thoughts racing ahead and that she clearly didn't believe him.  
  
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice a thick whisper. He turned his head slightly, not quite hearing her.  
  
"What?"  
  
Her hands moved then, sharp and precise, a scowl crossing her features.  
  
"Who are you?" she whispered harshly, at the same time.  
  
Mickey hesitated, clearly recognizing sign language and understanding it. The problem was she saw his reaction too. The girl's eyes grew huge in horror, the color literally draining from her face. She began backing quickly away as if he suddenly had developed a virulent case of leprosy.  
  
"Hey wait!" he protested and took three quick steps after her, catching her gently under her forearm. He suddenly discovered a very different Reva.  
  
She grabbed a fistful of his coat in her left hand and jerked him forward. A leg wrapped around the back of his left knee. Off balance before he fully realized it, Mickey felt himself being shoved back, his leg giving out. Tucking his shoulder in, he expertly twisted, landed hard, and rolled to come back up again. Instantly he froze.  
  
His eyes stared at the business end of a .9mm automatic. Now, where had she hidden that? his brain wondered. He slowly sat upright, bracing his hands flat out on the ground, digging his fingers in, hoping for a possible rock or two. Mentally, he berated himself for getting knocked off his feet. She stood over him, properly crouched, the big weapon looking too large in her hands, but she held it a little too knowingly for him to risk any stupid moves. He relaxed and carefully set his feet flat on the ground.  
  
"Now what?" he asked her. The corners of her mouth were tinged white with fright. Her eyes had become as dark as the clouds surrounding them. She shifted the gun to one hand, stepped over him, and jerked open his jacket. Reaching in, her hand rested briefly on the end of his gun. She'd've been too easy to take down, stepping within range of his feet like that, but the dread emanating from the girl kept Mickey glued firmly to the ground.  
  
"Watch it. I'm ticklish," he murmured lightly in her ear. Mickey's face had gone deadly serious, his eyes business-like. It, however, didn't stop the concern that drifted across his gaze.  
  
She scowled, jerked back away from him and doubled the grip on her gun. "Who are you?" she whispered again.  
  
"Michael Kostmayer," he said. "But my friends call me Mickey." He felt that irresistible shot of adrenaline he had long grown addicted to. It seemed to give his eyes a strange glint.  
  
"Who sent you?" she asked harshly.  
  
"Sent me?" he asked, surprised. "No one sent me. I'm supposed to be on vacation."  
  
Reva shook her head, frowning in disbelief.  
  
"Who do you think I am?" he replied as his voice dropped, trying to reason with her. "Don't you think this is gonna look kinda stupid when the next group of people come up?" Why hadn't she pulled his gun out when she had a chance? He kept his eyes carefully on her face. "Are you in some sort of trouble?"  
  
"Answer my question," she grated out as a catch marred her already damaged voice. Mickey gazed at her a moment. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to toy around.  
  
"Look, I am not a bad guy. I am only out here on a fishing trip, no one sent me!" he replied truthfully. "But if you need some help."  
  
"Why would you be carrying that, then?" she rasped, indicating his gun. "How did you know sign language? How'd you even figure out I knew? Why were you watching me yesterday?" She reaffixed the gun sight between his eyes. "Some one sent you and I want to know who?" Her voice gave out completely.  
  
"Look, I work in security, my gun is a part of it. No one sent me," he replied cautiously, keeping his voice low. "I'm here on vacation. I'd be more than happy to leave though, if you'll." he let his gaze drift to the gun. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as her lips curled down. A lot of questions were popping into Mickey's mind. At almost the same instant both heard muffled voices from the Wiscasett side of the viewpoint.  
  
"Reva, listen carefully," he spoke urgently. "I'm not the bad guy, really! I just here to do some fishing. I'm not spying on you! I'll leave and never come back if you'll just give me the gun. Those people are gonna be here any second. Whoever you're hiding from is certainly gonna see some sort of story on this, if it hits the paper." Moving ever so slowly, he stood up. She began backing away, never dropping the gun. He held his hands out to her, placating.  
  
"Just put that thing away and I'll leave, all right?" He studied this odd young woman a moment. "I won't ever come back," he added truthfully. The voices grew louder. Reva stood frozen. Very gingerly Mickey moved sideways and slipped past the end of her gun. He set his hand on top of it and gently pointed it to the ground as his ring finger pushed the safety on. He could hear a faint wheeze in her breathing. As he removed the gun out of her hands, a harsh racking cough seized the girl.  
  
  
  
Two people, at the far edge of the point, appeared in view just as he deftly tucked the gun against the small of his back. Reva, one hand on her throat, the other covering her mouth, began coughing in earnest. Mickey gently caught the girl under both forearms, holding her in front of him and quickly moving them down the path away from the approaching couple. Just his hands, where they carefully gripped her past her elbows, could feel the tension wound up tight as a coil in the girl.  
  
Gaining the beach, her legs gave out, bringing them both down to their knees. The spasm literally racked her body as she turned her face away from him in shame. She began to retch. Mickey felt his heart wrench at her whimper. For a moment all he could do was hold her arms as she retched again and choked on a painful sob. She began to cough again as she pushed herself up off the pebbles. She pulled her hand from her mouth.  
  
Blood covered it.  
  
Alarmed, Mickey simply took over.  
  
  
  
"C'mon," he murmured in her ear, pulling her to her feet. He took her back to her home. Another fit racked her as they climbed onto the veranda. While Mickey eased her to the deck, Reva jerked her shoulder away from him.  
  
"What can I get you?" he demanded, as she choked again. Her hand flashed to her chin, her first three fingers forming a "W". Her eyes were screwed shut in obvious pain, the other hand clutching her throat. Mickey nodded, scrambling to his feet.  
  
"Water! Got it!" He moved towards the house, only to find the French doors were locked. Not even thinking, he knocked out a pane with his elbow, reached up inside and forced his way into the house. A scan through the kitchen located the glasses and the towel hanging off the refrigerator door. He quickly filled a glass full of water and he rejoined her. She had managed to sit up, desperately trying to wipe the blood off her face.  
  
"Here," he said handing her the glass and the towel. He crouched next to her. Fighting against sobs of frustration, she wiped her mouth then downed a short swallow of water. Swishing quickly, she leaned and spat over the side of the porch and drank again, struggling to avoid another round of hacking. He waited patiently, aching to do anything more to help.  
  
"Can I get you some more? Maybe call your doctor? What can I do?" he asked. She refused, shaking her head no, her hair loosening itself from the pony band. Impulsively, he reached up and carefully pulled her hair back over her shoulder. She visibly flinched.  
  
"S'okay," he murmured lifting a corner of the towel she kept over her mouth. He gently wiped off a smear on her cheek. "I won't hurt you," he added softly, allowing himself to gaze at her profile. Something checked him. He got to his feet suddenly, carefully guiding her up with him. "Let's go inside."  
  
She let herself be steered indoors, then she shrugged his hands off of her. With wobbling steps she disappeared down a hallway, leaving Mickey standing by himself. Realizing he had broken into the place, Mickey wandered over to the doors and gazed in dismay at what he had done. Broken glass had settled on the floor inside the house with a few shards still hanging from the door. Gingerly Mickey pried loose the remnants, examined the caulking, and mentally figured what it would need to fix it.  
  
Picking up the shards on the floor, too, he headed into the kitchen. He located the waste basket, dumped the glass in it and then looked around for something to patch the window. A pile of cardboard sat near the few logs by the fireplace, so Mickey helped himself.  
  
No Texas good ol' boy ever went without a pocketknife. Mickey produced one and made a temporary patch for the hole he had made. As he worked, he looked around the living room.  
  
Immaculate, was the first word that popped into his head, followed by expensive. Kitchen, dining and living room were combined for one big area, dominated by the great fireplace. To his left was the sunroom where he had previously seen a drawing table and work sitting on it. A hallway separated the sunroom and the kitchen, which led off to several other rooms. The whole house was open and airy, very comfortable, designed to take advantage of the view and the natural light. His eyes drifted over a few award plaques on the dining room wall. Several framed lithographs, of which some were of her drawings, hung there. Oddly, an assortment of kids books mingled in with various others on an oak bookcase. An expensive computer desk sat against the only wall with no windows, upon which a computer, the phone, a tty unit, and printer sat patiently waiting to be used. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, he mused, then he remembered the gun at his back. Pulling it out, he checked to see if there was a chambered round. He wasn't too surprised to find that there was. He removed the clip then jacked out the remaining bullet. He looked the gun over carefully, noted the well kept condition, then gently set it and the bullets on the kitchen bar.  
  
This girl was scared stupid, he thought, frowning, as he shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets. He could hear her trying to stop another round of coughing in the bathroom. The injury that robbed her of her voice clearly had more to it than a car accident. Something aggravated it to the point of drawing blood. At least what he had seen had been bright red, which indicated arterial blood. Probably scar tissue. He let his gaze drift out the windows to the beautiful gardens, blooming in profusion.  
  
She knew a little something about hand to hand combat, else she would never have gotten him down so easily. But why hadn't she taken his gun when she had the opportunity? She seemed to only want to confirm he had it and to know who had sent him. Who would send him? He didn't know anything about her. Mickey heaved a sigh, except maybe that this Reva was completely opposite from the one he met at the dock, drawing otters. That Reva had been sunny and delightful, this one was downright suspicious and scared. Mickey didn't like it. Why would a commercial lightning artist know martial arts and pack a substantial weapon? Better still, how had she figured him to be some sort of spy? Unless she'd been around them. An icy finger trailed its way up his spine. How on earth could she know?  
  
He heard the door opening and waited patiently as she disappeared into the furthest bedroom. After a few moments she re-emerged, having put on yet another turtleneck. Her hair was loose now, and she looked nearly grey, her face was so pale. She had a discouraged, frightened frown on her face and looked to be in pain. Entering the kitchen, her eyes glanced once at him, then at the gun on the bar. Silently, she set a belt holster next to it.  
  
"Are you going to be all right now?" he asked, genuinely concerned. She looked at him a long moment, skeptically, then nodded her head in acknowledgement.  
  
"What caused all that?" he asked, nodding at the deck. She said nothing. Presently she moved her hands. Her signing was eloquent, if slow, which sat fine with him, being a bit rusty at translating.  
  
"There's scarring," she signed, not even trying to speak. "It needs more surgery to remove it. When I try to use my voice too much, it causes problems." It made sense to him. He nodded in understanding.  
  
"What would make you think I'm some sort of cop?" he asked bluntly. She gazed at him directly. Mickey hated seeing the fear come into her eyes.  
  
"Who would pack a weapon on vacation, unless they were?" her eyes grew challenging. "Only a cop or an agent is that suspicious, even on vacation! I spotted you were wearing a holster," she added. "And you understand signs. Then there was yesterday at the card shop."  
  
"Only another operative would be trained to see something like that," he replied softly. She seemed to shrink even smaller.  
  
"I am no spy," she signed crisply. He looked at her.  
  
"Maybe, but you've certainly been around them. And you're scared. Of something," he murmured. "I've been around fear too much not to recognize it."  
  
Reva clenched her fists slightly and scowled again. Her hands moved.  
  
"Who sent you?" she asked again. Mickey heaved an exasperated sigh.  
  
"Nobody," he said flatly, looking at her. "I came here to enjoy some fishing. It's what I do when I'm not." he let his words trail off, a ghost of a smile curling his mouth. "I'll even let you call my boss and ask him," he added. She stared back at him, warily. Somehow she suddenly didn't want to know who his boss was.... She sighed and gently rubbed at her throat. Instinct told her he had to be telling the truth. If he had been sent to watch her, he'd certainly not be standing in her own home with her. Her fears had caused an over reaction on her part. Mickey noticed her looking embarrassed.  
  
"Look," he said trying to appease. "I could just leave. Never come back to this place. Would that make you feel better?" She didn't respond right away and just stared at the gun on the counter. Mickey continued.  
  
"I never meant to alarm you," he added. She glanced back up at him. He looked at her with dead earnestness. She recalled how gentle he had been bringing her back to the house. If anyone would have had opportunity to get at her. Weariness settled all over her.  
  
"Besides, I owe you a window pane," he nodded his head at the doors. "I'd like to fix it..." he offered. She glanced at the door and couldn't help but notice that he had removed the glass and put in a temporary fix.  
  
"I'm tired," she signed. He straightened to go. Pausing he looked her over, seeing indeed that she had suddenly aged far beyond her years.  
  
"Would you mind if I stopped by later? I'll fix that window," he offered. She looked up at him and felt a hundred years old. She sighed, then nodded her head indicating he could. A light smile quirked across his face, then he turned and went back out the way he had come in. For a long time Reva simply stood and stared at the temporary repair he had made to her French doors.  
  
  
  
Late the next morning, Mickey pulled into Reva's driveway and immediately noticed that her truck had a flat tire. He hauled out a sack of stuff from his vehicle and ambled over to the truck. Running his free hand along the tread his fingers located the head of sheet metal screw. His eyes twinkled a little, knowing full well it was another opportunity to stick around and get to know this girl.  
  
When she answered his knock, he saw that she had hardly slept, the circles under her eyes made worse by the paleness of her face. Pain and uncertainty lurked in her features.  
  
"Hi," he said, smiling lopsidedly. "You all right?" She nodded.  
  
"I. uh, got the stuff to fix that window," he said then turned slightly to let her see the truck. "Did you know you have a flat?"  
  
Reva looked at him blankly a moment then stuck her head out the door. Her mouth said 'Oh no!', but there was nothing from her voice. She gave him an utterly deflated look. He looked at her with boyish hope.  
  
"I can fix that too, you know? I checked it. You ran over a nail somewhere. I saw the spare in the bed of the truck. I could get it off and put it on? That's if...." he looked expectantly at her. "If that's okay with you?"  
  
Reva's shoulders sagged. Wearily, she signed.  
  
"I don't have a car jack."  
  
"I do," he smiled brightly and set the sack he held just inside her doorway. Reva followed him as he went to his car, clutching her arms. Mickey popped the trunk and pulled out a jack and tool kit, complete with cross wrench and fittings.  
  
"Here take a look," he said dropping to a knee in front of the tire. He showed her the tack. Reva sighed, gazing at him in frustrated resignation.  
  
"I have to pick up Toby from the vet's in 20 minutes."  
  
"No problem, I'll have this done in a jiffy," he volunteered. Reva nodded her head in dismay.  
  
"At least let me pay you for doing all this." she signed as he felt under the truck searching for a place to set the jack. Mickey gave her pained look.  
  
"You don't have to do that." he said, watching her. Reva, exasperated, signed.  
  
"I can't let you just fix all this stuff for nothing." she protested, her hand gestures eloquently accompanying her silent words.  
  
"Hey let a guy have some dignity, will ya, I don't want your money. Besides, I'm the one who broke your window." He ducked under the truck's edge, located a likely spot, and set the jack in place. He popped his head back out and quickly added.  
  
"But I did not stick the tack in your tire." To his surprise he got a smile from the girl, albeit a bit of a sardonic one. Mickey quickly had the tire off. She moved to the side of her truck and began to reach in for the spare.  
  
"Ah, ah!" he scolded. "That's my job." He reached past her, drawing the tire to him. Hefting it out proved to be a little too easy. He dropped it to the pavement. Both stared as it flattened.  
  
Their eyes met over the tire.  
  
"Need a ride?" he asked, hopefully.  
  
Reva moved her hand to cover her mouth. For a few seconds everything grew very still as she stared. Then she snorted softly and he could see her trying to hide a reluctant grin. "I'll load these in the car," he said indicating the tires. Reva bobbed her head.  
  
"I'm not quite ready," she mouthed, and signed. "I'll be a couple of more minutes."  
  
"Mind if I come in and check the glazing on that window? I want to make sure I got the right stuff." Reva paused a moment, considering, then nodded. She went back inside. Mickey felt relieved that she seemed to be much less afraid of him this morning. Yet there remained an underlying tension.  
  
As he waited for her, he studied a framed lithograph of 'Where The Wild Things Are' hanging prominently in the dining room. The illustrator, Maurice Sendak, had signed it. Mickey glanced at Reva as she entered the kitchen.  
  
"I remembered reading this book as a kid," he mused, reminiscing. Reva smiled lightly.  
  
"Who didn't read it? He's my favorite illustrator, living anyway," she signed.  
  
"Signed copy too. Must be worth something."  
  
"You could say that."  
  
"He grew up in the area my brother works in," Mickey commented.  
  
"Brooklyn?" Reva 'exclaimed'. Mickey grinned at her.  
  
"Polish Brooklyn, the old section. Nick's a priest." He shrugged, raising a you-know-how-it-is eyebrow. "Kinda hard not to live there with a name like Kostmayer," he added wryly.  
  
"Sendak did most of his work in New York. I admire his stuff," she signed.  
  
"I think Nick mentioned something about the older Sendaks being in the area still, but that was ages ago," Mickey said thoughtfully.  
  
"Someday I want to do a better job than he did doing set designs for the Nutcracker. His Pacific North West work is unbeatable," she signed. Mickey looked at her slightly amused. That was the longest discourse about herself he had 'heard' yet. "We've got to go get Toby," she reminded him.  
  
"Toby?" Mickey asked moving into the hallway.  
  
"My cat."  
  
"Oh yeah, the one who didn't appreciate you kicking the door shut the other day," he cracked. Reva blushed.  
  
"Let's not mention that," she signed, looking at him soberly. "I still have a lot of questions I want to ask you."  
  
"Why am I not surprised?" he asked as they left the house. A stray cloud had to enter his day somehow.  
  
  
  
The conversation in the car wasn't much, due mostly to Reva's lack of speech. Mickey couldn't help but notice how genuinely tired she was. The trip into town being blessedly quick, he dropped her off at the vet's office and ran the two tires to the shop across the road from them. As it was going to take a few minutes, he walked back across the street, headed first into the card shop then into the cafe'. Seeing she still wasn't out he took the two coffees he bought and decided to join her.  
  
There was always something about the smell in a vet's office that never sat right with anyone's nose. Mickey ignored the clang of the bell as he pushed the door open with his hip. Presently, a tall brunette showed up in an otherwise empty reception room.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asked brightly, sitting down.  
  
"I'm waiting on...." Mickey let it hang, nodding his head at a closed door.  
  
"Miss Cheney? The one with Toby?"  
  
"Yeah, Miss Cheney."  
  
"They'll be a couple of minutes. He had a nasty abscess on his back leg."  
  
Mickey nodded, setting one coffee cup down and sipping at his. Miss Cheney, he mused trying to hide his smile of satisfaction. So much for married with twelve kids. The receptionist returned to her work.  
  
Presently the door opened and Reva emerged, lugging the cat carrier, followed by a stocky older man wearing a white lab coat, emblazoned with the name Dr. Lasker. His hair, once red and now greying, was combed back. Nothing was able to hide a pair of twinkling blue eyes behind a set of bifocals.  
  
"Just make sure he has no more run ins with that other cat, dear." he said amicably. Reva smiled awkwardly up at him. Mickey set his cup aside and instantly relieved her of the cat carrier. Toby shifted, uneasily.  
  
"Let me carry that," he said easily. "Just grab the coffees okay?" Reva looked at him a moment in dismay, relented, then glanced at the Doctor. All she could do was mouth a thank you at him.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Reva dear. Just make sure he gets his pills and bring him in next week to get those stitches out. Bonnie will take care of the prescription." The doctor smiled and went back into the exam room, where he began cleaning off the table.  
  
"The car's across the street," Mickey said to Reva, "I'll take him over there and you just meet me when you're through, okay?" Reva, seeing the willingness to help in his eyes, sighed and nodded. Mickey glanced down at the big brown tabby in the carrier.  
  
"If you're good, I'll by you an extra stash of catnip!" He winked at Reva as he backed out the door with her cat. "What do you feed this guy? Steroids? He's huge." The receptionist giggled.  
  
"We grow Maine Coon Cats big around these parts, buddy!" She looked at Reva with a sly smirk. As the door shut behind him, she looked at Reva.  
  
"Very nice, Reva! Where'd you find him?" Reva blushed and pulled a checkbook out of her back pocket.  
  
"Down at the docks," she mouthed. The receptionist busied herself with the prescription.  
  
"Remind me to go trolling down there more often," she smiled at Reva, who busily wrote her check out. "He's not bad, and he seems to like you." Reva looked at Bonnie in exasperation.  
  
"Don't give me that look, girl! You've lived alone too long. Enjoy it while you have a chance."  
  
"I don't even know him." Reva barely mouthed again. She caught the catch in her voice.  
  
"Well, get to know him! And you'd better get that throat taken care of soon, girl. You won't have anything left to speak with, if you keep using it." Reva rolled her eyes and passed the check to the girl. Bonnie handed her the prescription, which Reva promptly shoved into a pocket, followed by the checkbook.  
  
"Yes, mother." she mouthed back as she picked up the two cups.  
  
"What's his name anyway?" The other asked, hugely enjoying Reva's discomfort.  
  
"Mickey Kostmayer," Reva barely whispered before the catch in her voice turned into the cough. Bonnie grinned.  
  
"Mickey Kostmayer. I like it," she replied. Reva rolled her eyes and backed out the door, gingerly carrying the coffees.  
  
In the exam room the doctor had stopped and listened intently. No one saw the start in his eyes at the name of Mickey Kostmayer. He let himself into his office a few seconds later and picked up the telephone.  
  
  
  
Reva spotted Mickey where he sat in the car across the street. He was out of it in a flash, opening her door for her. Toby sat, huddled in his carrier, in the back seat. She handed Mickey his coffee as he slipped back in the driver's side.  
  
"Tires'll be a couple of more minutes. Thanks." He flashed a grin at her and took his cup. Reva raised a skeptical eyebrow and simply pointed at her cup, her own lips curled in a smirk. He looked at her quizzically.  
  
"It's coffee, two sugars and cream."  
  
"How do you know I like my coffee that way? How do you know I even like coffee?" she signed.  
  
"The cream and sugar dispensers next to your coffee pot," he replied non- chalantly. Reva's grey eyes just looked at him. Mickey laughed gently.  
  
"Weren't we just saying something last night about being around spies? I'm trained to notice stuff. It's part of the job." He looked at her. "Besides, you look tired and I feel kinda responsible for it." Reva exhaled softly and cautiously took a sip. Her eyebrow lifted. Mickey grinned.  
  
"Did I get it right?" he asked. She nodded a yes and sat back. Her shoulders dropped and she sighed heavily.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kostmayer..." she signed as she set the cup on her leg. "I feel stupid about yesterday. I really thought you had been sent to watch me. My talent at drawing had been used before by..." She shrugged, smiled a little and raised a 'tell-all' eyebrow. "My throat injury was the result of a screw up in security," she admitted. Mickey looked thoughtful.  
  
"Had a few of them myself," he murmured. "And don't ever call me Mr. Kostmayer, again," he chided. Reva let herself giggle.  
  
"Are you really just on vacation?" she asked. Mickey threw his hand up in a Boy Scout salute.  
  
"Honest! I've needed a vacation for a long time. Finally got the old man to give me one."  
  
"Why here?" she asked, waving a hand at the whole town.  
  
"He didn't want me straying too far... Bangor's just up the road, I can catch flights out of the base there, if need be."  
  
"Military?" she asked. Mickey bobbed his head in mid sip.  
  
"Navy," he admitted after a slight pause. Reva caught the hesitation.  
  
"Navy, eh? Had a grandpa in the SEALs." She looked a tad distant, thinking. "He was a great man," she added. Mickey looked a hair uncomfortable.  
  
"Some of 'em are," he commented dryly, seeing movement in the rear view mirror. "I was in the SEALs too. Tire's are done."  
  
He popped his door open and she followed suit, looking curiously at him because of his somewhat short comment. He looked at her.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked her.  
  
"They're my tires, I need to pay for them," She signed.  
  
"I'll get 'em," he replied, releasing the latch on the trunk.  
  
"No way," she flatly signed. "You are not buying everything for me! I can more than afford them."  
  
"You can pay me back by letting me borrow your kitchen," he shot back. She blinked in surprise.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Pay me back by letting me use your kitchen. That place of mine over there doesn't have anything decent to cook on. I want to be able to eat some of those fish I've been catching." He looked at her expectantly. "Of course, I wouldn't mind sharing...."  
  
Reva closed her eyes, dropped her head and smiled.  
  
"You're determined aren't you?" she signed. Mickey just smiled sweetly and shrugged.  
  
"Is it a date?" he asked. Reva shook her head with a silent laugh.  
  
"Only if you tell me why the SEALs make you so uncomfortable," she signed, raising a daring eyebrow. The faintest hint of long held pain drifted across Mickey's face, but he smirked at her, rising to the challenge.  
  
"Maybe we should wait 'til after dinner before I tell you that."  
  
Fixing her window was easy, so was bribing her cat with the catnip ball Mickey had purchased at the card shop earlier. Toby, all 18 pounds of fur and purr, liked Mickey right off. Reva still had to be worked on. She had busied herself with an elaborate project for her publisher as she had been commissioned to do the artwork for a book about "The Flying Dutchman." Drawings were scattered all over her dining room table. Slowly the ice broke between them as he commandeered her kitchen.  
  
Reva, a bit surprised, found his cooking to be rather good. Nothing beat fresh grilled fish fillet in garlic and butter, on a hot summer night. Add a salad, drinks, good company, and the day slowly came to end on a well- rounded note.  
  
Their conversations were tentative and cautious. Reva didn't reveal much about herself before coming to Wiscasett, sticking mostly to discussing various illustrating jobs. Then again, on his part, he didn't let on much either, other than being a transplanted Texan in New York City, who had a navy background, and did odd jobs in security for the government.  
  
Despite the lack of details he was able to gain a little bit of her trust, enough for Mickey to persuade her to walk down the beach with him. He even left his gun where he had stashed it on top of her refrigerator.  
  
A glorious sunset greeted them as they wandered away from the town. Reva, being a born beachcomber, had immediately begun scanning for shells and other bric-a-brac, while Mickey enjoyed the never-ending rhythm of the surf. As they walked, he kept a steady eye on her, to read her sign language, and impulsively engaged in a rock-skipping contest. Nearly a mile out, Reva finally broached the subject he didn't particularly want to tackle.  
  
"So..." she signed. "It's after dinner."  
  
Mickey let fly with his stone, seeing her remark yet not answering it right away. He counted skips, feeling her eyes on him as if they could get behind his very carefully constructed walls.  
  
"You would have to remind me of that," he grumbled lightly, fingering another stone in his hand. Reva saw the dark cloud as it drifted over his features, it suddenly gave him a world-weary air. He twisted slightly, slinging the rock underhand to skim across the surf. He couldn't bring himself to look in her eyes.  
  
"You don't have to tell me, you know," she signed. His lip crooked when he glanced at her. Reva had decided to let her long, wavy, blonde hair loose to blow in the breeze.  
  
"Tell you what, you tell me what scares you so bad and I'll tell you why the SEALs are such bad news," he said, watching for her response. Reva's lips curled slightly.  
  
"I asked first," she signed, her movements clear and precise. He gazed at her. It had taken him all day to get her to relax around him. How on earth was she going to react to his past? She waited patiently, thumbs hooked in her jean pockets, watching him intently. What had Robert drilled into him all these years... be honest.  
  
"I...uh," he started, looking away, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. His shoulders hunched. "I...uh, I did time," he sighed. "Few years back... in Leavenworth." His shoulders and his head dropped in defeat. He figured if he had to blow it, now was the time to do it, before he really got lost. Reva said nothing, just watching him soberly. He could still feel those grey eyes trying get past all his defenses. She moved.  
  
"For what?" she signed slowly. Mickey swallowed, gently bit his lower lip and looked away from her. One at a time he let his handful of small flat rocks drop to the ground. He looked everywhere but at those grey eyes. He sucked in air.  
  
"Um... my partner got killed," he stopped. Reva could see something low, dark, and deep move across his suddenly aged face. She watched as he struggled a moment, then he abruptly looked her in the eyes. "It was for murder," he said. "I was convicted," he added softly. She literally felt the discomfort emanating off of him.  
  
"A very good friend of mine in New York, he...uh, he found the evidence needed to prove I didn't kill him." By the tone in his voice Reva could hear that something very special existed between Mickey and this friend. "I was exonerated and released." Mickey swallowed again and glanced away from her. He looked utterly defeated. His stomach had curled itself into knots.  
  
"Well, that would explain why you're standing here..." she signed, catching his eye. Mickey looked back at her in surprise. "I mean, not many convicts would be allowed to carry weapons, and you certainly don't act like a fugitive..." She stopped and just gazed at him. He stared back, momentarily speechless.  
  
There and then, Reva decided that Mickey Kostmayer really had been telling her the truth all along. An admission such as this, only three days into a somewhat rocky acquaintance had to come from an honest heart. She had seen a light die in his eyes, replaced quickly by resolve, and resignation. Face the fire and act like a man. A soldier's bearing. Yet the thing that had reached out and touched her had been the look of terrible loneliness which had surfaced in his hazel eyes. Knowing full well that this thing was a burden he had to face the rest of his life. That light in his eyes earlier had gone out. Reva suddenly found she did not want to see it extinguished.  
  
"You know..." she signed. "That took a lot of guts to admit to something like that." She bent down and picked up one of the rocks he had dropped. Spinning on her heel, she sent the stone skittering and skipping across the top of the waves. Neither spoke, they just watched the rock go before it slipped under the surface. She turned and looked at him.  
  
"11 skips, beat that!" she grinned and it lit her face with radiance. Mickey could only gaze at her, his face somber. Then he slowly smiled his lopsided grin. Reva saw the barest of flickers in his eyes. He started resuming their walk. Reva gently slipped her hand around his arm, and ducked her head shyly.  
  
For several long moments they didn't speak, but then he finally said, "So. Now that I've spilled the beans, it's your turn." He slid her hand into his own to gently clutch her fingers.  
  
She didn't answer right away. She enjoyed watching the sun go down, walking slowly with him, just being near him, really. Finally, left handed, she signed.  
  
"What would you like to know?"  
  
He didn't respond right away either. The feel of her hand in his being something he marveled at. To be near another human being, in a non- threatening situation, was an idea so novel to him that all he wanted to do was soak in it. He studied her a moment as she watched the sun go down, trying to figure out what had happened to her. Living alone, sometimes scared witless, (enough to arm herself), and literally speechless. She never had mentioned any family to him, or friends for that matter. How could she stand being so isolated?  
  
"What happened to you?" he asked and pointed at his throat. "You said something earlier about a mess up in security?" She nodded and studied his hazel eyes a moment.  
  
"You already know I did some government work." She smiled wryly, and signed one handed. "I used to work in New York, too. Maybe 5 years ago. I was trying to get on with any publisher then, and to help out my income I took a job as a clerk at one of the federal buildings." She pursed her lips, looking out at the surf.  
  
"In due time, I became one of the drivers for one of the upper level bosses." Mickey frowned.  
  
"Wait a sec. Only folks with several years of military or police type training are allowed to be drivers... Not to mention some damned high security clearance!"  
  
"I know that," she signed. Mickey shook his head.  
  
"Reeve... I know you don't have that much ability. I could have taken you out six different ways the other day."  
  
"Truth?" she queried, looking at him. "I don't have more than three months worth of karate'. But now I do know how to handle that gun." She smirked at his disbelief.  
  
"Okay, how did you get to be a driver?" he asked. She squeezed his hand, grinning.  
  
"Let me finish telling you," she mouthed. Mickey returned the smile.  
  
"This ought to be good..." he drawled.  
  
"You're right, I had no training for it. I took it on as a challenge."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"There was this person in the office. He was a real jerk. He kept wanting me to do things for him. Especially when he found out about my ability to draw what I see." She shrugged her shoulders. "We didn't get along," she added, looking at him. He listened patiently.  
  
"One day he wanted me to do something I knew was immoral, especially as it affected one of the bosses. I told him no. He told me I'd never amount to anything but a pencil pusher and he'd see to it that I would stay that way. Well, the cards were on the table, I certainly wasn't going to be humiliated that way." She smiled at her escort.  
  
"So I arranged to get promoted to the job he wanted."  
  
"The drivers job," Mickey stated. She smiled.  
  
"How did you arrange that?" he asked. Here, Reva's smile grew very coy.  
  
"I got the necessary paperwork and signed my way in." Mickey stared at her.  
  
"You forged your way in?" he exclaimed. "Impossible!" Reva silently laughed.  
  
"Not only was it possible, I actually had been driving nearly a week, before I got caught."  
  
"Ahh.. . There is a catch," he commented.  
  
"Well yes and no," she responded. He looked a little surprised.  
  
"That's got to be at least a court martial, if not losing your job," he said flatly. Reva nodded.  
  
"It so happened I was chosen to be the driver for one of the top guys. He let me drive him around all day, then he had me pull over in Central Park." Mickey watched as she tugged at the throat of her sweater. As her head was turned to gaze out at the ocean, he didn't see the troubled look which flashed briefly across her eyes. She gripped his hand, signing with the other,  
  
"This guy was very scary! He sat there and told me that what I was doing could earn me about 10 years in prison. That I was a damned fool, and that I had better come up with a good explanation as to why I was driving him around!"  
  
"Met a few guys like that myself!" Mickey cracked. "What'd he do?"  
  
Reva's light bantering tale began to take a more somber side. "He wanted to know how I did it, and why. I told him the truth."  
  
"And?"  
  
"He let me keep the job." Mickey blinked in surprise.  
  
"You're joking?  
  
"No, he let me keep the job, but it had some strings attached..." Mickey stopped walking. He gazed steadily at Reva.  
  
"There's always a string attached..." he murmured. She nodded her head in agreement.  
  
"He arranged for the training I did receive and began teaching me some other things after I had showed him how I signed my way into my job." Mickey felt an icy chill run up his spine at her signing of 'other things...'  
  
"He didn't," he asked involuntarily. Reva quickly shook her head no, clutching at his hand.  
  
"Oh no! Not like that! No. He had seen what I could do as an artist and I started doing things for him. On occasion I drove, but after he found me out, I did most of my work in his office complex. I stayed on there for almost a year..." she explained. "He sort of took me under his wing and began training me to...." she simply let it drop and smiled knowingly at Mickey. He nodded and they resumed walking.  
  
"Go on," he prodded.  
  
"Well, one day he came to me needing an assignment done." Reva signed slowly. Mickey could see the play of old memories across her features.  
  
"Seemed there were a few undesirables, terrorists really, who were attending a very ritzy gala at the mansion of some media tycoon... I never did know who he was..." she let it trail off. She grew quiet, thinking about the events of that night. Mickey watched the shadows in her eyes. Finally she looked askance at him.  
  
"My boss was my escort that night. All he wanted me to do was get a good look at the two people in question and draw them for him later. Apparently these guys never allowed cameras near them," she paused a long time again, just walking.  
  
"What happened?" Mickey murmured. She swallowed, her hand lightly touching her throat.  
  
"I had a notepad with me and when I had excused myself to use the ladies room, I got the drawings down there on the spot, instead of waiting. It was a very stupid mistake on my part. Apparently I never saw one of the men's wives in there with me." She looked out at the beach, but Mickey could tell that she wasn't seeing it.  
  
"The security that was supposed to be in place that night had been changed at the last minute. As I tried to get back to my boss, the wife went and told the husband what she had seen me do..."  
  
"While I was trying to get back the crowd began to push and shove me around. I couldn't seem to get to him. I looked for the guys who were supposed to be there for security, but I couldn't see any of them. I remember seeing my boss watch me from across the room... I saw him look around, and he began to move my way..." Reva had come to a stop. "I remember hearing a woman scream something in Arabic at me... and the sound of a glass breaking."  
  
Reva stopped signing altogether. Mickey had seen her face just go blank.  
  
"Reeve...?" he asked quietly. She looked at him with eyes that were haunted.  
  
"I saw her coming at me but someone else had grabbed me from behind. I couldn't move. I never even saw him. I never saw my boss..." she whispered out loud. "I never saw him..." she repeated, her voice trailing off, a hint of bitterness tracing her words. She swallowed, clearing her throat, shaking herself from the grip of the thoughts.  
  
"When I woke up, I was in the hospital, with about 150 stitches in my throat." Other memories lingered in her eyes. Mickey could say nothing. She looked at him.  
  
She whispered. "I was told that she had jabbed a broken wine carafe, straight into my neck. All the nerves had been severed... I nearly bled to death on the way to the hospital." She stopped for a very long moment. Slowly she whispered "I've never told anyone what happened."  
  
Mickey let go of her hand to reach up and gently pull her hair back over her shoulders. His hand slipped behind her neck and he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms silently around her. She curled her arms protectively in front of her as he tightened his grip around her slender form. He said nothing and did nothing more. Reva closed her eyes, feeling the strength in his arms and chest, as he cradled her head to him. Pent up tension caused her to begin to shake involuntarily. For a long time the two just stood there, saying nothing. Finally Mickey murmured in her ear.  
  
"C'mon, you need to go home."  
  
  
  
Mickey pondered over Reva's tale on the long walk back to her home. They said nothing, only holding one another's hand as if life itself depended on that tenuous contact. In vain he tried sorting through his feelings on the matter. Disgust at whomever let an untried, untrained, girl participate in such a hideously dangerous game, and a nearly fatal one at that. Shocked that she had obviously kept bottled up 4 years worth of sorrow, hurt, bewilderment, and fear. Then the underlying bitterness towards who ever was responsible for abandoning her at the time of tragedy. With the knowledge that she believed she was still being watched, Mickey wondered how she had managed to keep it all together. Plus he was beginning to wonder about his own feelings towards her.  
  
Mickey frowned. After 4 years, why would she still be watched? Now wasn't the time to ask the questions. He looked down at her. She looked pale and exhausted in the starlight, which filtered through a light mist that had shrouded the bay. Something in him naturally wanted to protect her. He did not want to leave her that night, yet things were still so new between them that he didn't dare push it, either.  
  
As they came within sight of her gazebo, he let go of her hand, laying his arms around her slender shoulders. Hesitantly, she eventually responded by slipping her arm around his waist. She allowed him to take the initiative, leading her docilely home.  
  
Only her stove light was on, casting a blue white glow over anything it could reach. She sat down slowly on the couch as he retrieved his gun and holster from the top of the refrigerator. She stared at the dark fireplace, hands clenched between her knees, perched on the edge of the couch. Her thoughts miles away.  
  
"Reeve?" he murmured as he knelt in front of her. Her eyes blinked slowly then looked at him.  
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking remorseful. "I've ruined the evening." Mickey's lip crooked as he gazed at her. He set the gun down at his foot. Reaching past her, he tugged a pillow over.  
  
"You didn't ruin anything," he said quietly. Gently he lifted her legs up onto the couch, guiding her over onto her side. He carefully took off her shoes, then snagged the blanket off the back of the couch and covered her with it.  
  
"You're tired." He murmured as he pulled the blanket up around her neck and allowed himself to stroke back her hair. "Go to sleep." She sighed, tucking an arm under her head. Rising, he picked up his gun, and leaning back over, whispered, "I'll be back tomorrow." Smiling softly, he lightly kissed the top of her forehead and left.  
  
  
  
The ice had definitely broken. For the next couple of days Mickey and Reva spent most of their time just getting to know one another. She took him exploring around the different sites around Wiscasett and he took her fishing, several times. It wasn't too hard to convince her to let him grill, and on one occasion she handled a meal for them, herself. A tenuous, but easy friendship developed. In the evenings, they'd walk the beaches, talking about "things", until he'd escort her home, before heading back to his place.  
  
On what turned out to be his last evening, they both spotted the river otter, happily munching on fish at her own float. Never without something to draw on, Reva proceeded to capture the antics of the creature in over a dozen rapidly executed drawings, stunning Mickey into a respectful appreciation of her talent. Then one of them moved, and the otter, with a powerful flip, sank beneath the surface of the waters and vanished. That simple act on the animal's part seemed to set an ominous mood on the both of them that evening, which proved true when Mickey returned, alone, to his cabin.  
  
That night Mickey didn't get much sleep. He sat in the open doorway of his cabin, chair tipped back against the doorframe and watched the surf pound on the beach. He stared at one fixed point, mouth set grimly, eyes dark and brooding. His left hand lay slack across his knees, his fingers holding a note card from the resort. In his right hand he rolled a quarter across the backs of his fingers in a hypnotic gesture used by magicians to keep their fingers nimble. The quarter rolling and vanishing in a smooth, repetitive movement. Mickey's vacation had been abruptly cut short. A flight time had been scrawled hastily across the card, having been received by the manager from an unidentified caller just a few hours earlier.  
  
A coincidence? He wondered, his thoughts dark and foreboding. He heads out for three weeks of R&R, meets a girl who just happens to have had some government training, and suddenly his leash gets pulled? Mickey chafed at it all. It smacked of being watched, but by whom? And why? And why would she be so scared of it all? Too many questions. He felt intrigued. Here was someone who came up with more questions to each one that got answered. Sort of like Robert McCall. Mickey smirked. Now there was one complex and deep individual. Sighing, he watched as the sun began to rise, lightening the dark skies.  
  
  
  
Reva knew when he pulled up in the driveway that morning that he had to leave; he hadn't bothered shutting off the car. Dark circles under his eyes gave him a doleful, weary look. He didn't enter and looked withdrawn as he stood in the doorway. It killed him to see the look of disappointment in her eyes.  
  
"I... uh," he stammered staring at his feet. "I, uh, have to go," he said quietly. She didn't respond, but just gazed at him, instead. Mickey clenched his teeth and heaved a sigh.  
  
"I got called back last night when I got to my cabin," he explained. Reva reached up to grip her arms tightly, leaning in her doorway. "I'm sorry, Reeve."  
  
"Don't apologize," she whispered, as her own eyes grew dark before him. "It's what you have to do," she added with resignation. Mickey scuffed a toe, his fists clenching in his jacket pockets.  
  
"Reeve..." he started. She drew in air.  
  
"Look, it's okay. Really!" She forced a smile. "I understand; I certainly have been around it enough."  
  
"Reeve,"  
  
"Please, Mickey!" she implored. "Don't make this harder for either of us. It's your job. Go."  
  
"Reva," he looked at her, pained by the disappointment in her voice. He pulled an object out of his pocket. In his hand sat an otter beanie baby and a small rumpled card. Reva stared at his hand, confused.  
  
"I don't want to have to go," he said, reaching out to take her hand. He curled the little toy into it. "If you need anything, just send something with an otter on it, here. I will get it." He squeezed her hand around the toy and card. Reaching out he pulled her closer to him. She started to speak, tensing up, but he lay a finger on her lips.  
  
"I'll send you word when I get back," he said moving his hands to cup her delicate face. One thumb lightly caressed a high cheekbone as he intently studied her eyes. "That's if you want me to come back?" he murmured. Her grey eyes seemed to look right into his very soul. Slowly she nodded yes, her chin barely trembling. Leaning forward, he kissed her, gently, lingeringly. Then he turned quickly and was gone.  
  
For some time afterward Reva stood in the doorway of her home, long after his car had disappeared, the fingers of one hand lightly touching her lips.  
  
  
  
End of Part One.  
  
Part two  
  
Several months later.  
  
  
  
Wiscasett locals wondered about Reva Cheney. Already a semi-recluse, after the rumors of her being seen with a young man during the early part of summer, she grew even worse. She was seen about town only for necessary purposes. On occasion, people would catch a glimpse of her, usually at sunset, wandering alone up and down the beaches, notepad constantly tucked under one arm. Mostly, Reva secluded herself in her home. The computer age being what it was, she maintained constant contact with her publishing company, and Fed Ex trucks were seen fetching and delivering packages to her home. She buried herself in work, doing everything she could to avoid thinking.  
  
In those quiet times when she sat in her drawing room surrounded by rough drafts, inks, pens, and completed drawings, Reva would get an eerie feeling that she was being watched. She'd scan the surrounding trees and beach, searching for anything; a shadow, reflections from binoculars, people where they shouldn't be, boats in the bay anchored for too long. Nothing. Yet she knew somebody watched the house.  
  
Her first hard evidence came as October ended and garden work brought her out of doors. Cleaning, dead-heading, mulching, pruning and other winter preparations kept her grounds in shape. In the garden near her bedroom window a very rare, Japanese Full Moon Maple grew humbly. Its nearly round, chartreuse-green leaves had turned a glorious yellow before dropping. She discovered it was damaged one day when she had gone into to town for groceries. At first she thought a large animal had crashed through the garden, but then she found the edge of a footprint in the recently turned soil next to the tree. She knew right away that it belonged to a foot far larger then hers. A cold dread settled over her like a mantle.  
  
Reva cautiously went inside, turned right into the kitchen, set the grocery bags on the bar, her every sense straining. She moved to stand in the junction of the dining room and living room, her eyes searching. The quirky quality of her photographic memory knew precisely how everything in the room had been left. Anyone from her former job would be aware of that fact and never touch a thing. This wasn't the case.  
  
Drawings from her latest project, 'Ring of Bright Water', were not in the same position they had been when she had been working on them that morning. Several dozen drawings, spread around her dining room table, had been shifted ever so slightly. Knowing she stood in the most exposed part of her home, surrounded by windows, she refrained from glancing at her computer desk. A ghostly voice echoed in her ears... 'keep calm and don't react.' How she hated hearing that voice after all these years.  
  
She proceeded to go about putting the groceries away, her eyes locating those things in her home that had been moved and put back. No doubt remained in her mind that someone had gone through her house and that they were not from her previous job.  
  
Late that night, she started up a fire and pulled the curtains closed. Going to the computer desk, she opened up a cabinet and removed its contents. She reached in and poked out the back panel and then drew out a large, thick, leather-bound and locked notebook.  
  
Sitting down on the hearth, she set the strange book on her lap, gently tugging the fire screen open. She thumbed the tab, unlocking the book. Inside was a place for drawing paper; the other side held drawings.  
  
The first few were intricate floor plans and bits and pieces of different handwritings, she barely glanced at them as she tossed them into the fireplace. The increased glow of flames illuminated her face. The other drawings were of one man. She hesitated over one and studied it, her features still and emotionless.  
  
  
  
They were of an older man. He had a face that could have been carved out of granite. Long and angular with a prominent brow and short-cropped hair. Square chin, high cheekbones and light colored eyes. Where visible, his hands appeared large and capable. Most of the drawings were of the man bent over his desk, the background full of books. He'd either be propping his head up with one hand, staring at something, or peering directly at the viewer over the top of his glasses with a gaze that could cut a person in two. In one drawing, he was talking with someone not pictured, pointedly using his glasses to get a message across. In most he wore plain shirts, with a sweater vest, and usually with a loosened tie, but there were several in which he had on a bow-tie, looking oddly appropriate on him. In all of the drawings, there was one common thread. The eyes. Something sinister, mysterious, and intimidating gleamed from them, demanding attention and respect. They were the eyes of a very powerful man. A man you most certainly never messed with. One by one, Reva tossed them into the fire, until only a few remained.  
  
Reva's face changed as she looked over the last three drawings. In one, the same man looked transformed as he sat back in his chair, the glasses held in his hand, the earpiece of one side resting lightly on his temple. He smiled, rather warmly, his gaze looking down, contemplating. The second showed him with his fingers steepled together, elbows on his desk, lost in deep thought. The last showed him sitting back in his chair, relaxed, the glasses held down loosely, the tie gone, collar unbuttoned and a soft warm smile on his face. The normal malevolent look was gone. His gaze appeared full of deep and sincere fondness. It was a look of both compassion and care. Reva stared at that drawing as she absently tossed the previous two into the fireplace. Finally, a look of bitterness and anger drifted across her features and, with a scowl, she viciously crumpled the drawing in her hand threw it into the fireplace and watched it burn.  
  
  
  
The little tell-tale signs of being watched continued as November came to an end. By then, Reva had postponed the surgery to her throat long enough. She made arrangements for the necessary operation. Reluctantly, as she dearly loved her big Maine Coon cat, she boarded Toby at the vet's, knowing full well that she'd not be able to care for him properly in the days following.  
  
As she packed her belongings, her eyes fell on the otter Beanie Baby Mickey had given to her. She sighed; it had seemed like ages since he had been there. And she had heard nothing from him since then. She had missed him terribly at first, then became resigned to the idea that he probably would not return. She picked the toy up off her nightstand. Despite Mickey being there such a short time, he had made an impact on her. She had never felt so lonely before in her life. The toy got slipped into her suitcase, along with a leather case holding her gun. Nobody in the hospital would know she had that. She then took Toby to the vet's.  
  
She remarked in passing to Bonnie, the receptionist, that she felt like someone was watching the house, and would she mind keeping an eye open for strangers? The receptionist gladly agreed, neither noticing Dr. Lasker's look of alarm.  
  
  
  
A few days following surgery, (with a reluctant doctor's agreement), Reva was released; sick, gaunt, and grey, but mobile. The doctors had forbidden the use of sweaters until the ten-stitch incision could heal. The nausea barely kept under control with medication, Reva loaded herself in her old pickup and began the long drive back to Wiscasett. She didn't fail to notice a car following her at some distance almost all the way back. She tried to bury the paranoia, knowing full well that the highway leading to Wiscasett was the only one to get you there.  
  
As luck, or lack thereof, would have it, her truck began spluttering, then died twenty miles from home.  
  
  
  
For several minutes Reva tried in vain to get it started. No matter what she did, all she got was a dull click out of the starter. Just as evening fell, she found herself stranded, as the car behind her came and went. She slapped the steering wheel in frustration, feeling the cold seep into her cab. Not for the first time, she kicked herself for not getting rid of the old truck and buying a new one. She shivered under her long wool coat, wondering if it was from cold or weakness. She sighed in disgust and climbed out of the cab. Her body shook from the effects of the weather and the surgery, as she popped open the hood of her truck.  
  
She propped it open in the typical sign of distress and looked in disgust at the engine. Mechanics was definitely not one of her strong points. A deathly stillness had settled around her in the remote countryside, with the lowering clouds promising snow. Reva looked around her, all too uncomfortably aware she was totally alone. Icy prickles other than from cold raised the hair up on the nape of her neck. She went back into the cab, popped the glove box opened and searched for her gun... and did not find it.  
  
"Damn!" she whispered out loud, actually having a bit more voice now that the scar tissue had been removed. She thought frantically, trying to remember what she had done with the gun. She knew it had to be in the truck. Knowing she'd be down a few days she had moved it to a different location. A search through her suitcase produced nothing. She searched under the seat and felt the familiar leather case. With relief, she then remembered having moved it, just that morning, out of her luggage. As her hand found the grip, her ears caught the sound of feet on gravel. Reva jerked upright, pulled the gun out of its holster and turned to face the back of the truck. That eerie ghostly voice in her head urged her to 'stay calm, maintain your bearing'. She leveled the gun, double handed and very sure at a shadow that moved her way along the road's edge.  
  
"Stop right there!" her voice croaked out, sounding pathetically weak. The form stopped.  
  
"Don't think for a minute I won't use this," she hoarsely added. She felt the weakness creeping up her legs. In the gloom she realized the form was a man, dressed head to foot in black, including the full-face mask. Reva stared at him, appalled. He looked like something straight out of the X- files. She thumbed the safety off.  
  
"Get out of here!" she grated. He held his hands out, saying nothing. She took a step towards him. She then heard movement behind her and her reflexes took over.  
  
As she spun around towards the front of her truck, she barely caught sight of a second man reaching out for her, swinging a club. The club connected just as the gun went off, simultaneously. The report echoed loudly through the darkened woods. The second man flew awkwardly backwards, the club flying from his hands, as a blinding flash of light exploded in Reva's vision. It was the last thing she remembered.  
  
She crumpled to the ground, gun still held in her hand, as the first man vanished. Stillness crashed over the scene. Soon snow began to fall and nothing moved.  
  
  
  
New York City  
  
  
  
Lazily, Mickey blinked his eyes open. A moment of disorientation washed over him as he stared at the ceiling and walls in some confusion. Half a breath later he realized he was lying in his own bed, in his own apartment; he sighed in relief. With a groan, he sat up, looking about him in the gloom of pre-dawn light. He'd slept too long in one position, his aching body told him. Unsnapping the shoulder holster he had been wearing when he had fallen asleep, he slid out of it, wrapped the straps around the gun and set it on the night table. An ankle holster quickly followed suit. One tug on a stiff sock convinced him it was time to bathe. With typical bachelor disarray, he shed clothes and immersed himself in a long, hot, steamy shower.  
  
He felt a world of difference when he emerged into his living room a short while later. With clean jeans, an off white cable knit sweater and freshly shaved, he finger combed his wet hair out of his face, grateful that it didn't need cutting for a while. He gazed with dismay at the wreck of his apartment. Never having been too orderly in his personal possessions, what now greeted him, however, was depressing. The kitchen needed sanitizing and everything had at least a ½ inch of dust on it. The only order to be visibly seen, lay on the coffee table. A southern antebellum mansion lay under construction, an incredibly detailed piece of architecture that was slowly being built of toothpicks. A bottle of glue, several boxes of toothpicks and a set of his very expensive wire cutters sat neatly to one side. Yet none of it escaped the coating of dust. Mickey sighed.  
  
"My son," he could hear Robert McCall's ghostly voice echoing in his ear, "you are a slob." He smirked. Too true. He retreated back into the bedroom, somehow locating a pair of clean socks. Upon re-arming himself, he put on his winter gear and fled his apartment, ironically recalling how badly he had wanted to get there the night before. After all, it had only been six months since he had last been home.  
  
Getting dropped off by a cab near Central Park, Mickey began to walk with no particular destination in mind, although, inevitably, he'd end up in Manhattan. The whole city seemed grey and frigid. It would snow anytime, now. Mickey wondered what Wiscasett looked like under snow. During all his time away Reva had never left his thoughts.  
  
As he wandered about the park, he pondered over his latest deep cover operation that had been somewhere in Bulgaria. In the slack moments, his mind had constantly gone back to the summer and the strange, troubled blonde he had met. He hated admitting it to himself, but he found himself lying out in the open fields at night staring at the stars, wondering what she was doing, and missing her. The questions that surrounded her had refused to be resolved. More than anything, when he finally was allowed to return home, he wanted to see her again. Having flown east from Bulgaria to the US, he had landed first at LAX en route to New York. It wasn't hard to locate a post card in the many gift shops, with a grizzled sea otter floating contentedly in a kelp bed. He scrawled a day on it, signed only his first name, and sent it off to Reva's home.  
  
He eventually found his way to Robert's brownstone apartment and now, to his dismay, saw that the windows were darkened, indicating the other wasn't home. He settled himself, leaning, in the doorway of a building across the street, and waited.  
  
Presently, Mickey spotted a familiar Jaguar as it approached the brownstone's separate parking garage and to his relief saw that the other man was alone. He moved out from the doorway, let himself be spotted, and followed the car inside. The Jaguar was parked one level down and an older man climbed out, elegantly dressed in a dark suit, his silver hair combed neatly back. A pair of wire rim glasses eloquently added to the man's natural dignity. The man was nearly the same height as Mickey, his build more stocky compared to Kostmayer's leanness; however he carried himself very well, shoulders back, head up. A proud, confident man. Intense hazel eyes glanced quickly around as the younger man approached. He wrapped his long, overcoat about him to ward off the garage's chill.  
  
"Mickey." His clear, very British accent greeted him. "Been playing a long while in the Balkans again, I understand?"  
  
Mickey smirked at him. "Jealous?" he cracked back.  
  
McCall snorted, smiling slightly, gently shutting the Jaguar's door. "Not in the slightest. When did you get into town? You look as if you haven't slept in a week."  
  
Mickey smiled wryly, hunching into his army coat. "Only last night."  
  
"And obviously you did not sleep very well," Robert said dryly. Mickey could only shrug in agreement and smirk. Robert smiled slightly, clapped him on the shoulder, and led the way to the garage elevator.  
  
"Come along then, I'm sure I can find something to feed you."  
  
"I didn't come over here to eat!" Mickey protested.  
  
"Of course you didn't," McCall murmured, nodding sagely.  
  
"Does my coming over here always have to do with food?" Mickey protested.  
  
"Not at all, not at all..." Robert replied soothingly, pressing the button for the elevator. He smiled slightly at him. "Scott is far worse about that than you."  
  
Mickey gave him a pained look, as if to say, 'Give me a break!'  
  
The elevator doors whooshed open, Robert held out a gloved hand and tipped his head for Mickey to go first. Mickey entered, grateful that he had found McCall in an amiable mood.  
  
Robert smiled paternally, loneliness, or something he had asked Kostmayer to do, were the usual reasons Mickey came to Manhattan. Kostmayer rarely sought advice, and somehow it touched Robert that he came to him for it. Only around himself had Robert ever seen Mickey relax. Robert noticed Kostmayer looked tired, and he had heard rumors through the grapevine that Mickey had been responsible for several key demolitions at strategic points. Then of course he had to come home to that apartment...  
  
"I take it things went well?" he ventured as they rode up.  
  
"I'm in one piece," Mickey commented, his face looking angelically innocent.  
  
Robert shook his head, knowing full well whoever was on the receiving end of Mickey's "expertise" certainly would not be in one solid piece. The crooked pixyish grin on Mickey's face spoke volumes to the older agent.  
  
"I guess we should thank Him for that!"  
  
"What are you doing out so early?" Kostmayer asked.  
  
"I was visiting with a client," Robert replied easily. "Works the graveyard shift at one of the textile factories. Turned out I was able to help him solve his problem there on the spot."  
  
"I wondered why you were in such a good mood," Mickey commented, carefully not looking at him.  
  
Robert blinked once, "Are you implying...." he stopped, then smiled. "Kostmayer.." he warned.  
  
Mickey grinned, "So what's for breakfast?" he asked and glanced at him.  
  
Robert shook his head.  
  
  
  
They lightly talked shop on the stroll to Robert's brownstone and continued over their meal. Robert mostly caught him up on his various cases. Many times he had solicited Mickey for help, and as the younger agent owed his very life and freedom to his mentor, he helped without being asked twice. Discounting the fact that he did have a screw or two loose, Robert had seen him change a bit over the years, a gradual healing. And his work as an operative was beyond measure.  
  
Robert noticed, through the meal, that Mickey seemed preoccupied. There were very few people Robert ever trusted and Mickey had been his protege' for many years now. McCall was constantly aware of that delicate tightrope Mickey walked between working with him at 'Equalizing the odds' for people and his dedication to the Company. Robert pondered on whether or not that was what troubled him. He itched to ask questions, but waited patiently for Mickey to come around.  
  
"I...uh, met someone," Kostmayer eventually said when they had settled in the living room with coffee. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. Robert almost sighed in relief; he didn't want to play mediator between Mickey and his old friend, Control.  
  
"Someone?" Robert asked, raising an eyebrow. He sipped at his drink. Mickey gazed at the fireplace while his expressive lips curled.  
  
"You know what I mean..." he drawled, stretching out on the couch, as Robert elected to sit in his favorite chair.  
  
"Ah... a girl." Robert carefully kept his face neutral. Mickey coming to him for advice on a girl? Especially after the bawling out he'd given him several years back about Sydney? This indeed was novel. "I certainly hope this one isn't anything like what Scott brings home." Robert dryly remarked.  
  
Mickey snorted, clasped his hands behind his head and found a spot to stare at on the ceiling. "I hope you don't think I'd go that low!"  
  
Robert chuckled. "Sometimes..."  
  
"This one is different," he said, his thoughts drifting to his encounter with Reva on the viewpoint of Wiscasett. Mickey smiled, twisting his shoulders a bit.  
  
"They always are." Robert lightly baited, seeing the memory play over Kostmayer's face.  
  
Mickey's thoughts returned to the living room. "I met her last June. Up in Wiscasett, when I was on vacation. She's an artist," he said.  
  
"Not as in, say, body art or...." Robert egged.  
  
"Commercial art, McCall. Kid's books!" he retorted.  
  
"Well, that's a relief!" Robert sipped his coffee. He could not help the corner of his lips curling impishly at the other man. "This sounds serious," Robert ventured.  
  
Mickey shrugged, blinking his eyes lazily. "Not very. We'd just met. I've only kissed her once."  
  
Robert wisely bit back the teasing jab he sorely wanted to speak. Mickey's debacle with Sydney needed to stay properly buried in the past. Kostmayer had learned that lesson well. Besides, it was a calm, relaxing day, so far.  
  
"Cautious, is she?" Robert asked, watching Mickey's face. Something deep swam under the surface.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Bright girl." Robert murmured.  
  
Mickey shot him a look.  
  
"So, what is on your mind?" Robert finally asked.  
  
Kostmayer shrugged again. "I'm just thinking, I mean, I've got some time coming to me."  
  
"Will she let you?" Robert pointedly asked.  
  
Mickey looked a little perplexed, his whole mouth shifting left, briefly. Would she? Mickey wondered. "Yeah, I think she will."  
  
"How serious are you about this?" Robert asked gently.  
  
Mickey blinked at his spot on the ceiling. "I don't really know," he replied.  
  
McCall felt a slight chill in the room. Mickey? Not bloody likely, but then Robert had been wrong on these things before.  
  
"Does she know anything about you?"  
  
"Some," the younger man admitted, not wanting to tell Robert what she really knew. Mickey blinked lazily. "I met her at the grocery store... sort of."  
  
"Sort of?"  
  
"She was dropping a bag of cat food."  
  
"Cat food?" Robert's eyebrows rose a notch. "Er... did she say anything to you?" Something about the smile playing across Kostmayer's face piqued Robert's interest.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"She didn't?"  
  
"Not a word."  
  
Robert drank his coffee, gazing at the younger man, who was stretching out comfortably on the couch. Something in Kostmayer's voice struck a very faint nerve..  
  
"So, how did you get to know her?"  
  
"Met her at the boat rental place a few days later. Found out she lived next door to where my cabin was at."  
  
"Aha... and you just happened to wander over."  
  
"You could say that..." Mickey replied, stifling a yawn. Careful, Robert noticed; Mickey was being very careful. He hadn't mentioned the girl's name yet. Robert found he actually approved, though he wondered just how far Mickey wanted to go with this.  
  
"I haven't been able to get her off my mind since I met her..." Robert looked curiously at him. This was serious. Mickey had been gone since June. Kostmayer shifted his holster slightly and wrapped his arms across his chest.  
  
"I take it you're wondering if you should take your vacation time and go and visit?" Robert asked cautiously.  
  
Mickey nodded. "You could say that."  
  
Now the older man felt puzzled. Why ask him?  
  
"I don't see why you shouldn't, if she wouldn't mind?"  
  
"That's what I'm wondering about," Mickey mumbled through yet another yawn. "I didn't expect Control to ship me off for six months."  
  
Robert sighed.. The specter of the Company surfaced, again.  
  
"Mickey, just how serious are you about this girl?" he asked somberly. Mickey didn't respond. Robert glanced at him. His eyes were closed. Robert frowned, not quite rolling his eyes. Then he grew solemn as he gazed at him with a look of deep care and friendship, while a few ghosts from his past whispered faintly in his ears.  
  
"Take great care, Mickey," he murmured. "In this line of work, they never last."  
  
"Mmmm?"  
  
He dropped off to sleep.  
  
  
  
When he awoke hours later, Mickey was still sprawled on McCall's couch. At some point in time Robert had draped a blanket over him. He yawned, sat up, and listened for the sounds of the other man. Not hearing anything, he got up, looking around. A note sat propped against a centerpiece on the dining room table. Next to it lay the New York Times. Mickey picked up the card as he tugged his holster back into place. It simply told him that Robert had been called out, but would be home soon and to just make sure he locked the door if he left. Mickey glanced at the paper as he set the note down, and idly pulled it over to him. It contained the usual assortment of death, murder, and mayhem, along with football news and holiday shopping plans. The normal assortment of crap. He was about to shove it aside when his eyes caught a small headline.  
  
  
  
"Illustrator kills assailant, left for dead."  
  
Story on A6  
  
  
  
Frowning, Mickey flipped the paper open and suddenly felt as if somebody had sucker punched him. A small black and white photo of Reva, smiling delightedly, greeted his shocked eyes.  
  
  
  
"Illustrator kills assailant in apparent  
  
car-jacking attempt."  
  
  
  
Bath, Maine. Caldecott award-winning illustrator Reva  
  
Cheney was in serious but stable condition at Sacred  
  
Heart Medical Center in Bath, after apparently killing  
  
the man who had tried to attack her on a deserted  
  
stretch of Hwy 95 Tuesday night. Dead was an unident-  
  
ified white male, mid thirties, of a gun shot wound to the  
  
face. The man apparently attacked Miss Cheney after  
  
her car had broken down on a remote stretch of highway.  
  
Miss Cheney suffered from lacerations and contusions to  
  
the head, and mild hypothermia after lying unconscious  
  
for several hours, before being found by State Troopers. Miss  
  
Cheney, who won the prestigious Caldecott Award for  
  
her illustrations in the Native Am. Children Novel "Raven  
  
the Trickster", recalled no details of the attack and  
  
refused comment.  
  
"She is resting comfortably, but understandably  
  
cannot remember details of the events," Lt. Matt Greene  
  
reported. "She did have a concealed weapon permit and  
  
by all accounts reacted to a life threatening situation  
  
with deadly force."  
  
The assailant was described as a white male, 30-35,  
  
175-180lbs, 5' 11", with blonde hair and blue eyes. No  
  
identification was found on the man who, was dressed  
  
in guerilla-style clothing. Investigators are looking for  
  
any clues to the man's identity.  
  
"Apparently the assailant attempted to strike Miss  
  
Cheney from behind, but was caught unawares when she  
  
turned and fired her weapon," Greene reported. No  
  
further details will be released until investigators can  
  
conclude their case.  
  
  
  
Upon his return home, Robert, to his dismay, found his apartment door unlocked. He frowned, cautiously edging the door open.  
  
"Mickey?" he called out. Nothing greeted him, and nothing seemed out of place, until he entered the dining room. Sprawled open was the newspaper, lying where it had been dropped hastily. Robert scanned the headlines and located the article on Reva Cheney. His eyes focused intently on the piece as he read through it rapidly. Mickey had said something about the girl he had met being an illustrator. A cold knot formed in his stomach. He studied the girl's picture. Reva Cheney? Why did that name sound vaguely familiar? Maybe it was the book award. His gaze drifted to the window, where approaching dusk darkened it. He didn't have to be told where Mickey went. Yet a sickening sense of foreboding descended on him. Somehow he knew he'd soon be seeing Reva Cheney.  
  
  
  
  
  
Mickey pulled major strings to get into Bangor International Airport as quickly as he did. Not to mention a lot of rank, which he could do when needed. He even bribed his way onto a Lear jet and touched down shortly after 11:00pm, in Bath, Maine. A quick trip in a cab and he was walking into Sacred Heart Hospital, hunching deep into his army jacket and scarf, trying to ward off the cold.  
  
Following arrows indicating the different wards and elevators, Mickey made his way to the trauma ward. Several things met his eye as he cast a glance at the lobby and hallways. On the ward display board directly behind the nurse's station, he quickly spotted Reva's name and room number. Two nurses didn't even look up as he walked calmly by them. Several doors were opened to various patients' rooms, with the occasional blare of television sets, or the low moans of people in pain to be heard. Mickey scanned carefully around him as he searched for the room Reva was in.  
  
He was about to turn the corner where her room was when he spied a lone man in a rumpled business suit, sitting in the lounge, reading a People magazine and yawning in boredom. Mickey pulled back before the guy could see him. He reeked of Fed so strongly Mickey couldn't help but shake his head. He backed up to a through-way section of the hospital that connected parallel hallways, where there was a miniature lunchroom and storage for cleaning supplies.  
  
His face set in grim determination, Mickey pulled open a cupboard, which held snacks and personal food items for individual patients. His eyes developed a strange gleam as he reached and grabbed for a box of tinfoil wrapped Ding-Dongs. He pulled a few out, jerked open a microwave, and put them inside. He purposely left the tinfoil on as he set the microwave for 10 minutes. He turned and grabbed a bedpan from the cupboards below and filled it with water. Carefully he moved the door on the lounge side of the hallway almost shut, then reached up and balanced the bedpan on the door's upper edge. Mickey searched a second and spotted a stack of towels. He snagged one, turned around, jabbed his thumb on the cook button of the microwave and exited out the other door. With the towel between door and jamb, Mickey effectively wedged it shut. He then went to where he could carefully watch the results, spying both the man in the lounge and a cop sitting near Reva's doorway.  
  
Microwaves, tinfoil and large chunks of sugar, make a particularly smoky, fiery diversion. Mickey's was no different. Within minutes, the smoke came wafting down the corridor, reeking of carbonized sugar. The man in the lounge smelled it, looked up and immediately spotted the smoke. He was on his feet yelling. The cop, glancing over, saw it also and the two began running. As the Fed hit the doorway, down came the bedpan, soaking him. Mayhem erupted. As they shouted, nurses appeared from some of the rooms, while one rushed up with an extinguisher. With a satisfied smirk, Mickey casually slipped into Reva's room and thanked God she had a private one. Once inside, he shut the door and stopped.  
  
The solitary glow of the florescent light above her bed provided the only illumination. Reva lay on her side, back to him, one arm stretched out towards the window, which carried an IV drip in the back of her hand. A self-administered pain medication unit blinked electronic eyes at him. The cord with the dosage button trailed over Reva and he could see she held the unit itself in her other hand. She was completely out.  
  
Mickey's entire face changed. Usually looking open and boyish, it suddenly developed a grim seriousness, his eyes dark, mouth set in a firm line. Yet his eyes couldn't hide the horror and despair he felt when he walked quietly around her bed.  
  
The first thing he saw were stitches, in a neat line parallel with her neck followed by three, angry, red lines where a broken wine carafe had left its permanent marks. They traveled across and down her throat. It was the first time he had seen the scars Reva carefully hid. Then his eyes caught the second set of stitches, high above her left eye, nearly into her hairline. Purple-black mottling ran into her hair from deep bruising. Strangely, there was only a little puffiness around the eye, the club catching her more across the top of her head than the side of it. Mickey couldn't move.  
  
He just stared, and fought against a rage that built up in him and threatened to engulf him. He spotted the light gauze wrapped around her pinkie and ring finger of her left hand, and remembered that she had been unconscious in freezing weather before being found. Reva looked utterly exhausted, the circles under her eyes appearing like bruises themselves. Her paleness was shocking.  
  
Mickey swallowed hard and forced the knots back down into his stomach. His ears caught the sound of feet. Turning from her, he opened the window, relieved to see that her room was on the same roof level as the hospital ventilation. Several feet away from them was the roof access door. The view might not be great, but for him, it would do just fine. He climbed out the window, pulled it shut after him, and hoped like mad that whoever saw it wouldn't lock the latch. His luck held. He ducked down behind one of the huge vent shafts, grateful for its cover, and waited.  
  
Seconds later, the cop and the fed burst into the room, one turning to the restroom, the other jerking open the closet. Finding nothing, the fed looked out the window, while the cop checked under the bed. Both looked angry and annoyed. Mickey couldn't have cared less He waited.  
  
Soon the two left the room, leaving the door open. A perturbed nurse soon bustled in, going to Reva. Mickey didn't see her move for several minutes, but eventually the nurse started out of the room. About to leave the door open he watched as she paused, then looked back into the room, apparently listening to something from the patient. She nodded her head yes and, to his relief, shut the door after her. Waiting another few minutes, he let himself back in the way he had come.  
  
Reva had rolled over onto her back, her face towards the door, irritated at being woken up at midnight by yet another nurse. She was drifting back into her drug-induced sleep when she felt the bed shifting next to her. Somebody was sitting on it. She frowned, groaned, and turned her head, hoping she wasn't having morphine generated nightmares. She had started to slip into the blackness of sleep, when she felt a hand pick up her hand by her fingers. Reva flexed a knee and bumped into something very solid. If this was a dream, it felt real. Fighting it, Reva reluctantly opened her eyes.  
  
She struggled to focus her vision and winced at a jab of pain across her skull. Somebody was sitting on her bed. As her eyes focused she still didn't believe what she saw. Somehow, she made a mental note, she had to tell the nurse to remove the pain machine, this was too real.  
  
Reva could have sworn Mickey Kostmayer sat on her bed. That simply wasn't possible, he was long gone. However when he reached out to move her hair from her face, Reva realized it wasn't a dream. She stared at him so long Mickey began to get worried.  
  
"Reva?" he asked quietly. A look of shock and disbelief appeared in her light grey eyes.  
  
"Mickey?" she whispered thickly as her brows knit together in a frown. He barely smiled, resting his hand against her cheek and carefully clutching her good hand. Her eyes unfocused briefly, then swam back to clarity. She shook her head slightly, still not believing what she saw.  
  
Mickey looked concerned, he had sent her a card warning of his coming, but she seemed to be in shock. Then it dawned on him. She never got it... she thought he had left for good.  
  
"Reeve..." he said softly, "It's me." He lightly stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. She stared at him again. He had done that same move when he had left so long before. She reached up with her other hand and touched his. Mickey gently clutched at her fingers, bent forward and lightly kissed her forehead. She exhaled a soft exclamation of surprise. She slipped her arms under his jacket and wrapped them around his waist, as her hands slid across his back to grip two fistfuls of sweater. Mickey curled her in close, his arms tightly around her, and buried his face in her hair and shoulder.  
  
"Mickey!" she breathed, feeling overwhelmed. That someone would even hold her in their arms was too incredible, that it was Mickey was unthinkable. She began to shake.  
  
"Hey!" he murmured in her ear, as he carefully held her head to his chest. "It's okay. It's me. I'm here." She held on to him for dear life, gasping for air. He rubbed her back. "It's all right..."  
  
When he gently pulled her away, he took her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers. Reva continued to look shocked, as she reached up with her good hand, and lightly touched his chin. It nearly tore him apart to see the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. Yet Reva refused to cry, her chin only barely trembled. He could feel the unnatural shaking in her, caused no doubt by weakness and drugs. Mickey clenched his teeth, as his eyes took in the bruises and stitching.  
  
"Who did this to you?" he asked in a voice barely louder than her own. Reva could only shake her head.  
  
"I don't know, Mickey, I don't know!"  
  
He saw the fear in her eyes.  
  
"What is it?" he urged.  
  
"They followed me from Portland. The truck broke down. Nobody was there..." she caught herself, swallowing back the tears, refusing to let herself cry. "Nobody was there!" She gasped. Mickey heard the combination of horror, despair and bitterness. She trembled like a leaf.  
  
"They've been watching the house since October. People have been in the house when I'm not there." She looked at him. "The man that I sh..." Her head shook. "I didn't even see him. I just saw the club, all I could do was fire!"  
  
"Who's been watching your house?" he demanded. She shook her head.  
  
"I don't know Mickey," she pleaded. "They're different, I don't know who they are!"  
  
"How different?"  
  
"They're not from before." Her other hand moved to her throat. He didn't need to be told about who was before. He knew she had worked for a government agency.  
  
"I couldn't get the truck to start! They told me the fuel pump is broken and they found metal in it. I saw somebody coming at me from the back of the truck. I had the gun," she rambled.  
  
An alarm sounded somewhere in the back of Mickey's skull. Reva looked at him, appalled.  
  
"That guy was dressed all in black. He... he had on a ... a black facemask... I couldn't see who he was. I told him to leave, that I'd shoot..." She stopped, looking down.  
  
"It's all right Reva!" he said and pulled her back into the circle of his arm, tightening his grip around her shoulders, his mind racing.  
  
"Why the guards?" he asked. She gripped his sweater, in the front this time, and laid her head against his chest.  
  
"I don't know!" she whispered as she closed her eyes. He felt a bit of the tension release.  
  
"They didn't happen to tell you what they found in the gas tank did they?" he asked, stroking her hair.  
  
"Upper drawer," she barely gasped. Mickey frowned as his eyes glanced to the bedside stand. Mickey carefully leaned forward, eased the drawer open and grabbed a ziploc baggie from inside. With a free hand he held it up, his eyes intense as he studied it. All it did was leave him with a cold dread.  
  
Inside the baggie was a flat metal disc, about the size of a button. Hanging off of it was a mouse hair with a tiny bulb no bigger than a pinhead.  
  
"Do you know what this is?" he whispered. Reva pulled back, looking up at him. His whole tone had changed.  
  
"They said it had gotten wedged somehow and blocked the flow of gas to the truck. I told them I wanted to see it."  
  
"Good!" he said, rubbing her back. "Can you walk?" Reva looked confused.  
  
"Yeah...? What is it?" She looked at the disc. Mickey looked grim.  
  
"It's a tracking device. The satellites they have up now can position on these things." If she could have gotten any paler, Reva did as she took in the significance. Mickey stuffed it back into the drawer.  
  
"Have you got clothes?" he asked. She nodded yes. He picked up her hand that had the I.V. in it. "When did you last dose yourself?"  
  
"Eleven o'clock," she whispered. Mickey nodded.  
  
"Get yourself ready. I 'm taking you out of here." The tone of his voice told her to not even question him. Bracing herself, she let Mickey take the I.V. out.  
  
It took her several minutes to get dressed; being woozy, she needed help with a few things. Mickey helped where he could and when he couldn't he stared out the window, his eyes on the far access door to the roof. Face devoid of expression, only his eyes revealed a cold intensity. When she finished, she sat on the bed a moment as she tried to regain strength. Mickey found her long coat.  
  
"We'll get this on when we get outside," he said quietly, as he opened the window. He turned back and snagged a blanket off the bed. He dropped both out onto the roof and turned back to her.  
  
"Can you follow me out?" he asked. She nodded and got to her feet. Mickey clambered out. Reaching back, he gently protected her head as she ducked through the window.  
  
"Grab my shoulders," he instructed, laying her arm across them. She obeyed, gripping tightly as he drew her completely out onto the roof, holding her in front of him. She gasped at the cold, and reeled. Mickey snatched up her coat, helped her into it while trying to hold her up, then he wrapped her securely in the blanket.  
  
"Listen carefully," he said looking her in the eyes. "From here on out, you do exactly as I tell you. No matter what it sounds like. I'm getting you to a safe place somewhere and get to the bottom of this mess. Do you understand?" Reva nodded her head in acknowledgement, searching his eyes by the dim light of her room. Mickey meant serious business. He drew her close, shutting the window.  
  
Guiding her gently, they made their way across the roof to the access door.  
  
Mickey helped her to sit down, where she leaned against the building and watched him minutely exam the door. He absently patted at his jacket pockets. From inside he withdrew a small, flattish, rolled case. When opened, it revealed an assortment of long, slender, stainless steel implements with various strange tips. It looked like a demented set of dentist's tools. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Never leave home without 'em," he commented, selecting two. He felt relief that she still showed some interest, she looked a tad grey, even in the dark.  
  
"You gonna be all right?" he asked, deftly slipping the points of the two tools into the lock on the doorknob. He wriggled them experimentally. She nodded yes, huddled into the blanket as her eyes blinked wearily. She leaned her head back against the wall.  
  
"I'm a bit rusty at this," he said twisting the two picks. "Been at least..."  
  
They both heard the loud click of the door latch releasing.  
  
"Two or three months since I've had to pick a lock." She stared at him as he caught the pair of tools in one hand and turned the knob. The door opened, bathing them with light from inside. Mickey glanced at her.  
  
"I'm a bit slow," he added. Reva finally smiled. Sticking his foot in the door, he quickly put the picks away and then helped her to her feet, guiding her inside.  
  
"About time you smiled," he murmured in her ear. Mickey permitted himself a sigh of relief as the door clicked shut behind them. He began leading the way down the cold stairwell.  
  
As they reached the next floor, Mickey checked the door and found it locked. Reva leaned over the stair railing, one hand gripping it, the other the blanket. A sick sweat washed over her. She swallowed and tried not to shake. Mickey looked her way, not liking the color of her skin at all. He took her gently by the arm, steering her down the next flight of stairs.  
  
"If you feel the need to stop, tell me," he said. She nodded, letting him guide her down. He literally could feel her legs trembling as they made the second landing.  
  
"Sit," he ordered gently, easing her down on a step. She leaned against the wall, sighing. Mickey tried the door. It was unlocked.  
  
"Listen," he said crouching before her, tugging up his pant leg. "I'm going to see if we can get to an elevator and get out of here." He pulled a .22 from an ankle holster. Mickey slipped the gun into her hand, then flipped the blanket back to cover it. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.  
  
"Stay with me now, okay?" he urged. She nodded, reluctantly taking the gun. He smiled gently, then disappeared into the hospital.  
  
  
  
Quickly scanning up and down the corridor, Mickey spotted no one. He knew he had to be in the research and testing portion of the vast hospital complex. Most of the labs were dark and there was very little going on. Spying the hall markings leading to the elevator he carefully made his way to the junction between halls, checking through each lab window to make sure no one was working late. He had reached the junction when his luck ran out.  
  
A large security guard, near the opposite end, was on his rounds, spotted Mickey as he ducked his head out to see if the coast was clear.  
  
"Hey!" he yelled, instantly breaking into a run. Mickey swore, backed up a step and braced himself.  
  
The guard rushed around the corner expecting Mickey to have taken off at a dead run. Instead he ran smack into him.  
  
"Surprise," Mickey drawled, as he caught him by the lapels of his jacket and swung with the man's momentum. One swift hard head butt put the guard out instantly. As he fell, Mickey slung him over his shoulder. He groaned as he straightened his legs.  
  
"I wish they'd put you guys on a diet!" he growled as he shifted the guard into a fireman's carry. He staggered a moment and then gained momentum as he headed back to the stair well, an idea had formed in his head.  
  
  
  
Reva struggled to keep her eyes open, but lost the battle when she discovered how cool the wall felt against her hot, aching, forehead. She closed her eyes wearily, for only a few seconds, or so she thought, before being abruptly jerked awake by a loud thud against the wall outside the door. She gripped Mickey's pistol tighter.  
  
Mickey stuck his head in, glancing at her and then began dragging an unconscious security guard into the stairwell. The door clicked shut.  
  
"He ran into some trouble," Mickey said dryly, nodding at the guard. Reva's shoulders slumped with relief. She put a shaky hand to her head as Mickey proceeded to peel the jacket off the guard.  
  
"I have an idea to get us out of here," he said as he unpinned the badge from the front of the man's shirt. He affixed it to his belt, then took off his own jacket and set it next to her. He snatched the cuffs off the guard's belt, grabbed his arm and secured him to the stair rail. He flicked the keys down the stairs. Mickey then hauled out the man's service revolver, shucked out the bullets, and stuffed it into his army coat. Ditto to the radio, carefully turning it off. He rolled the coat up around the objects and glanced at Reva with a faint smile. He put the other jacket on, the sleeves a bit long. Mickey shoved the cuffs up to his elbows.  
  
"I need to borrow the blanket," he said. She relinquished it and he began wrapping his bundle into a suspicious looking...  
  
"Okay Mom." He handed over his "baby" to her. Reva looked at him as both eyebrows rose in surprise. Mickey smiled, handing the bundle to her. She took it, gentle as any real mother. Mickey watched her trying to rally her strength. He briefly laid his hands against her cheek, searching her fatigue-smudged eyes.  
  
"You look like hell..." he murmured, smiling gently. Reva said nothing but did managed a wan smile in return. He reached down, helped her to stand and relieved her of the .22, slipping it into the pocket of her long coat.  
  
"Just follow my lead if anything happens. We'll find a place to hole up for the night, let you get some rest. Concussion, right?" he asked, wanting to verify.  
  
Reva nodded, whispering, "And Morphine."  
  
Mickey smiled slightly again. "Lucky you!" he joked, and reached for the door. Docile as a kitten, Reva let him guide her out into the hallway.  
  
They met no one all the way to the elevator. Once inside, Mickey jabbed the button for the lobby, glanced at Reva as she gripped the railing. Her forehead reflected beads of perspiration as she cradled the bundle close, her eyes struggling to focus. Her face began to get alarmingly translucent. The floor swayed under them as the elevator reached their floor. She barely gasped out a sigh as her legs gave way under her just as the elevator doors started to open.  
  
So much for plans...  
  
Mickey moved in one fluid motion. As Reva toppled towards him, he scooped her up into his arms and started to run.  
  
"GET OUTTA MY WAY!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs.  
  
  
  
  
  
The few people who occupied the lobby and waiting room of the hospital got a real, late night, rude awakening. Two resident doctors, the receptionist, a nurse, visitors and a lone security guard, all scattered as Mickey burst from the elevator, shouting as he came. They began scattering at the urgency in his voice, exclaiming surprise and adding to the confusion as he ran. No one thought twice at the badge on his hip, the security guard's jacket and the authority in his voice. That was until they noticed he had run in the wrong direction.  
  
Mickey curled his shoulder in and slammed into the first exit door so hard it crashed back against the wall and shattered; the glass dropping like a waterfall. The explosion sounded like gunshot, causing folks to scream and dive for cover.  
  
"Hey wait!" One of the doctors hollered back, "You're going the wrong way!"  
  
Mickey hit the other door, ducking himself protectively over Reva as it too shattered. A shower of glass chunks rained all over his back as he made the pavement outside.  
  
Inside, the doctor, the guard, and a visitor all took off after him, the guard grabbing his radio.  
  
"Hey! STOP!" The doctor shouted. Mickey kept running, straight into the parking lot. Gaining the first row of cars, he slid to a halt behind them, lowering Reva to the ground. Crouching over her, he spun, the .45 in his holster instantly in his hands and firing. His reflexes were like lightning. The gun sounded like automatic fire, as he aimed above his chasers. He took out the main light and stitched a line of bullets across the brick facing so fast it seemed they all exploded at once, causing the three pursuers to throw themselves down on the ground. Shards and sparks flew everywhere.  
  
"Gunfire!" the guard was shouting through his radio, "He's shooting at us!"  
  
Mickey ejected the clip, reloaded, and shoved the gun away with one fast, well-rehearsed move. Carefully he scooped Reva back up and awkwardly ducked in and out of the cars as he wended his way deeper into the parking lot. He searched for an older vehicle. Alarms began ringing madly in the hospital.  
  
The guard, having recovered himself, fired off a wild shot, hitting the underside of a Pinto ahead of Mickey. Reflexively Mickey twisted slightly, attempting to shield Reva as he ducked. The old car's notoriety not lost on him. In his dash past the vehicle, Mickey saw that the gas tank had been pierced.  
  
He located an older Red Buick, slipped around to the driver's side and set Reva back down. He kept low as he unfurled the blanket bundle and fumbled around inside his army coat. Several more security guards had arrived and began to fan through the lot. Mickey calmly looked around, his eyes as cold as ice, as his fingers located what he was after. A slim-jim appeared, which he clenched between his teeth as pulled his lighter out. He continued searching around until he found what else he was after.  
  
Far off, he heard sirens. Glancing around, he spied the a group of guards searching for him. A strange gleam lit his eyes as he looked down at what appeared to be a roll of quarters. He looked once at Reva, then quickly dashed back towards the Pinto.  
  
Crouching low, he could smell the gas as he drew nearer to the car. The lighter was in his hand, striking it to life as he raised up the odd roll in his hand. There was a short amount of cord hanging from one end. Mickey smirked as he lit it. The cord sparked instantly to life as he held it in his hand and watched as it began to get shorter and shorter, nearer the charge. He looked up once, located the guards, then flipped the M-80 under the Pinto. He gazed with satisfaction as it rolled into the puddle of gas..  
  
The resulting explosion gave Mickey the time he needed to get back to Reva and rise up alongside the car he had picked. He slid the slim-jim down the inside of the window and snagged the lock. It was open in seconds.  
  
Total chaos reigned in the hospital parking lot as the guards dove for cover. Mickey jerked the door open, flipped the seat forward, and carefully pulled Reva into his arms. He slid her unconscious form into the back seat as he spied a police cruiser careening around the corner. The background began filling with sirens and people shouting above the roar of the burning car. Mickey belted Reva in the back seat, then dropped the blanket over her as he shrugged off the guard's jacket and cast it aside.  
  
Diving under the dash, he began jerking wires down as he pulled his gun out and set it on the seat next to him. He had the old car hot-wired in seconds. Mickey was upright in the seat and backing up almost at the same time. Abruptly, Mickey slowed. He rolled the window down, then casually slid his gun just under his thigh. Calmly, Mickey began driving towards the exit, glancing carefully in his rear view mirrors as he draped an elbow in the open window.  
  
As police vehicles rushed to the scene, Mickey placidly slowed down, pulling over closer to the parked cars, allowing room for the cruisers to pass. He kept one hand on the steering wheel, in full view with the other gripping the wing window. He looked at the cops with mock curiosity as he crept towards the exit. He knew full well that the police would be looking for someone acting crazy and wild. He nodded as a cop looked him over and he looked worried and concerned back at him. He kept rolling forward and the cop continued on past him. Sedately, Mickey pulled onto the street, turning towards more approaching vehicles, forcing himself to remain calm and steady as he drove the speed limit.  
  
Mickey finally permitted himself a chance to breathe when he calmly gained the main highway leading out of Bath, Maine, and headed south for Portland. He glanced back at Reva, dismayed at the fact she was so out of it, she hung like a rag doll, half over the seat. If not for the fact he had belted her in, she'd have been a crumpled mess on the floor. He began searching for a motel, preferably near a rental agency.  
  
At around two am, Mickey pulled up to the back entrance of a Motel 6. Having requested a quiet place at the back and paying cash for a single room. He registered under an assumed name and hauled out the fake ID to cover it. The clerk didn't even bat an eyelid. Mickey opened up the room door, then went and retrieved Reva from the car. For a moment he left her lying on the bed as he retrieved his belongings, but once inside he focused all his attention on her.  
  
Flipping the covers back, he knelt across the bed and felt the pulse in her neck. Strong and steady, anyway; he sighed in relief as he checked one of her eyes. Reva never responded, she was so profoundly out. He paused a moment, rested his hand against her cheek and grimaced at the two lines of stitches. His thumb lightly stroked her cheek, then he shook himself and began to ease her coat off. Following the removal of her shoes, he laid her out under the covers and gently slid a pillow under her head. He then left, locking the door to the room and went to ditch the car.  
  
A short time later, Mickey quietly let himself back into the room, locking the door. He paused to take stock of his own situation and glanced at Reva, who hadn't moved. Retrieving his gun, he set it on the table before pulling out his jacket and hauling out the guard's service revolver and its ammo. He set the radio on the table next to them and turned it on, searching for any news of their escape from the hospital. Something was missing. He turned and picked up Reva's long wool coat, stuck his hand into the pocket and grasped for his .22. He felt something else and pulled it out also.  
  
He stopped and stared. The otter beanie baby gazed back at him with beady black eyes. He blinked, looked over at Reva and slowly sat down, setting the .22 on the table next to him. How long had she been carrying that thing around? Why? He wondered.  
  
Mickey draped her coat over the other chair, looking at the toy in dismay, but felt decidedly shocked. He shook himself as he hauled the phone over to him, setting the toy on the table before him. He idly messed with it, setting it up in different postures as he arranged connections at the Portland airport for a hasty flight to JFK Int. in New York, heading home being the best alternative. Then he phoned Robert.  
  
  
  
McCall answered on the second ring.  
  
"Kostmayer," he stated simply.  
  
Mickey smirked. Leave it to Robert to know something was up. "How do you do it?" He asked.  
  
"You left rather suddenly." McCall replied, dryly.  
  
"Mind if I a bum a lift?"  
  
"What time?"  
  
"08:45. Lear jet, JFK, flight 87."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"Yep," Mickey drawled. "Someplace to hole up."  
  
He heard Robert sigh. "What is it?" he asked.  
  
"Catch that story on the illustrator killing her assailant?"  
  
"I did."  
  
"That was the girl I met last summer."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Near as I can figure, she was broke down when two guys tried to attack her, she killed the one trying to brain her." He heard Robert's faint sigh.  
  
"Is she all right?"  
  
"Out cold," Mickey heaved his own sigh, slumped in the chair, and turned the beanie otter over and over as he lightly drummed the table with it. "Nasty concussion, McCall. Whoever swung the bat tried to split her skull open."  
  
"Is she with you now?" Robert asked, his voice sharp. Mickey looked over at Reva, blissfully unconscious on the bed.  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"Dare I ask how you two left the hospital?"  
  
"You'll see it in tomorrow's headlines." Mickey's southern origins grew more pronounced with the fatigue he felt.  
  
Robert heard it in his voice. He closed his eyes and knew full well that Mickey no doubt came up with something explosive. "And how is she handling all this?"  
  
"Like I said, she's out cold."  
  
"How bad?" Robert had to ask.  
  
"Passed out on me as we were leaving an elevator." Mickey flipped the toy, still tapping it against the table.  
  
Robert decided he didn't want to hear anymore. "Anything else you need?" he asked.  
  
Mickey smirked. "They found a Global Satellite Positioning device in the fuel pump of her truck. Reva remembered to ask them for it."  
  
Mickey couldn't see the look of surprise on McCall's face. At both the object found and the astuteness on her part to request it. "It narrows down the list to the Israeli SS, MI5, and the Company."  
  
"A disc?" Robert asked tersely as his mind raced.  
  
"With antennae."  
  
"Who on earth would put that in an illustrator's gas tank?" Robert snapped out loud.  
  
"That's what I want to know." Mickey replied with eerie calm.  
  
"What's her connection?" Robert asked.  
  
Mickey paused.  
  
"I think that's best left until you see her," he replied.  
  
Robert did not like being left in the dark, but the phone lines were by no means one hundred percent safe. He dropped it. "I'll start things moving on this end."  
  
"Much obliged, Robert." Mickey drawled, softly.  
  
"Just get here in one piece!" Robert snapped, then regretted letting his anger surface. The last thing he wanted to do was mix with the Company again.  
  
"Always have, haven't I?" Mickey replied and hung up.  
  
  
  
The dull consistent ache in her head eventually woke Reva up. She groaned and tried to curl into a tighter ball than she was already in. It didn't work. The pounding kept on going.  
  
She blinked her eyes open and tried to focus in the dim light. The first thing to swim into her vision was the otter beanie baby. Reva frowned, totally confused. She stared at it, then the surrounding room, and didn't recognize a thing. She sat bolt upright, gasping out loud in fear, her eyes searching the room.  
  
Mickey, half-awake in the chair next to her, was by her side in a flash.  
  
"It's okay, It's okay." he reassured, wrapping his arms around her, feeling her heart beating wildly in her chest. He shushed her gently, stroking her hair. "You're safe."  
  
"Where are we?" she whispered in bewilderment, gripping the front of his sweater.  
  
"In a motel," he replied. Reva frowned, looked again at the room and realized he spoke the truth. She closed her eyes in relief and sagged against him. She hated how her hand shook as she rubbed at her eyes.  
  
"Lord, my head hurts!" she sighed. Mickey gently, but firmly pushed her back down on the bed. When she started to protest he raised a warning finger.  
  
"You need to rest, Reeve, you've been unconscious for four hours. We need to leave here in three." He pulled the blankets back up to her chin. "Don't protest," he added. Reva looked at his grim, serious face, and listened. She relaxed and moved the blanket away from her chin and throat.  
  
"Can I at least have some water?" she whispered. Mickey looked at her, and his eyes softened a bit.  
  
"I think that can be arranged," he replied, sliding off the bed. He was back in seconds, carrying a glass and pitcher. As she drained the second glass, she glanced around in the gloom, noticing that Mickey had rigged up the two chairs next to the bed and had been stretched out on them, evidenced by the blanket still hanging haphazardly off one chair. She looked at him in dismay.  
  
"That can't be comfortable," she whispered. Mickey smiled slightly.  
  
"It's better than some places I've been in," he said, and removed the glass from her hand and set it on the night table. Reva frowned as she laid back into the pillow. Mickey tugged the otter out from under her hair.  
  
"How long have you been carrying this around?" he asked quietly.  
  
Reva looked at it, and shrugged, "Months," she whispered.  
  
"You didn't think I was coming back did you?" he asked softly, gazing at her face. Reva slowly met his eyes.  
  
"No. It's been so long since..." she started to reply. Mickey stopped her.  
  
"I was gone far longer than I ever have been," he explained. "My... uh, boss, didn't tell me that I was going to be gone for six months." He set the beanie between them, so it almost touched her chin. He was leaning over her, propped up with one hand, perched on the edge of the bed.  
  
"I just figured..." she whispered, looking at the toy. She lifted her eyes to his.  
  
"I know what you figured," he said. "You never got my card did you?" Her frown of confusion answered his question. "I got into the States two days ago. I mailed a card from LA."  
  
"I was still in Portland, recovering from this," she whispered, pointing at the stitches in her throat.  
  
"You went in by yourself?" he asked. "You were driving home from this by yourself?"  
  
"It's always been by myself!" she whispered at the slight rise in his voice. She couldn't conceal the bitterness that welled up in her own. "I've gone through this whole stinking thing, by myself!" she caught herself and sighed. "That's the way it is..." she replied.  
  
Mickey hated that tone of resignation in her "voice". Where it came from he didn't quite know... "Not any more," he murmured back.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" she whispered, a touch skeptical. Mickey's gaze abruptly left her, looking around a bit uncomfortably. He suddenly appeared that sweet, somewhat shy, thoughtful, man she had met in the summer.  
  
"When I wasn't preoccupied," he said, drawing in air and a bit of courage. He finally looked her in the eyes. "All I thought about was you."  
  
"Someone said something similar to that to me several years ago..." she whispered back. "And I never saw him again." The bitterness lingered.  
  
"That somebody is not me..." he said quietly. Reva's searching eyes tried boring into his soul, again. He let it, his own eyes searching right back. His free hand moved, to rest gently on the top of her head, carefully avoiding the stitches there. His thumb lightly stroked the edge of her hairline. Reva broke their gaze. She swallowed, and looked at the toy between them.  
  
"I did miss you," she whispered so softly he barely heard it. He knew it had taken a lot for her to admit to it. Mickey said nothing, he just leaned forward, their faces inches apart. She looked up at him, her fingers reaching up to touch his cheek, one finger lightly tracing the crook in his upper lip.  
  
He couldn't quite figure out which struck him more, that first tentative, intimate, contact as he gently kissed her upper lip or her slim cool hand reaching around the back of his head to run her fingers into his hair. As he lightly pulled on her lip, her head tilted, allowing him to kiss her again, the tip of his tongue making the briefest, feather light contact. Their kiss became more earnest as she let him explore, sweet, tender and passionate. For that exquisite brief second it seemed to go on forever.  
  
Until a sudden realization doused Mickey with cold water.  
  
"Oh, hell," he breathed huskily, when they broke contact. He leaned his forehead gently against hers, his eyes still closed. Reva, still lingering in their initial contact, frowned slightly.  
  
"McCall'd kill me," he whispered. He felt her suddenly stiffen underneath him. Two different reactions occurred. Mickey pulled his head back, looking down at Reva who had barely hidden a look of shock on her face.  
  
"What?" she whispered shakily, suddenly pushing him back with her hand on his chest.  
  
"I'm sorry, Reeve!" he instantly apologized, gripping her hand tightly, sitting back up. "Robert climbed my case about this once..." He felt acutely embarrassed. "I'm sorry! It's not you!" he quickly added. He looked at her. "Believe me it's not you!"  
  
"Then what?" she whispered thickly, frantically struggling with a terrible realization coursing through her veins.  
  
"You're under my protection.. I can't stay objective if I." he gazed at her and looked every bit the guilty fool he felt. "I can't stay objective..." he whispered.  
  
Reva searched his face and knew he spoke truthfully, but felt the horrible dread of his words. She struggled ferociously to hide the sudden panic that threatened to engulf her, clinging to the hand holding hers. She also saw the struggle written all over his face.  
  
"Mickey," she whispered. "It's okay..." she hated the lie. "With this thing," she raised her left eyebrow, indicating the stitches on her forehead. "I've got a horrible headache anyhow..."  
  
It sounded funny, but neither laughed, Mickey only looked at her, still clutching her hand. "When this is over..." he whispered with intent. Reva smiled, achingly sad at him. He forced himself to stand up, heaved a sigh, and let go of her hand.  
  
"You've got to get some more sleep. We've got to fly out of here shortly." The serious, professional soldier abruptly appeared. He settled in the chairs, as she glanced at him.  
  
Neither slept. Mickey stared at the wall directly opposite, hearing her breathing even out but not sleeping. He knew he had a lot of explaining to do.  
  
Reva knew she had even more... and a black knowledge engulfed her that this man, who had had shown the first acts of genuine care towards her, would never be allowed to follow through with it. She struggled against the cold realization, the hopelessness, and the well of bitterness surging through her. She had recognized the name of Robert McCall, and she knew who Mickey Kostmayer worked for.  
  
Reva would've given anything to just scream.  
  
  
  
End of Part two.  
  
Part 3  
  
  
  
The next day dawned cold and painfully bright. At the end of a nearly deserted section of the gigantic airport, a Lear jet came to a stop and began to throttle down. Head pounding ferociously, Reva climbed out, eyes squinting at the glare of the sun, her lungs seared by the cold and a waft of jet fuel. She felt sick to her stomach. Mickey followed after her, silent and grim, his eyes searched around the airfield warily. A jumbo soared over their heads and nearly deafened them as the daily routines of a huge international airport continued on. Several yards away, a lone black Jaguar sat parked; a well dressed older man leaned patiently against the passenger side and waited.  
  
Reva had never met him before, but she most certainly had heard about him. Robert McCall. He wore a long, grey wool coat, a muffler, and she barely made out a business suit as they approached him. His silver hair was neatly combed back, his own eyes squinted against the sun.  
  
Mickey breathed a sigh of relief next to her as laid his hand against the back of her neck, between her shoulders. He looked utterly worn out to her, and she knew she looked worse. He guided her gently towards the car.  
  
She swallowed the nausea she felt and clamped down tight on the panic she wanted to cave in to. She still reeled in shock that Mickey was tied to the Company. She could hardly bring herself to look at him. She had known he was an operative, they had established that very early on, but for them? She wondered how he would react when he found out that she also had...  
  
Reva shoved the thoughts away and scanned the airport. What difference would it make? They were doomed before they even had a chance to start. She now knew exactly why Mickey had been gone for six months. What she wondered about now, was how had he been found out? Who had seen them? And how long would it take for him to send Mickey off again? For that matter, what would this mean about her current status with the Company? She knew far too much to be left alone, and with Mickey involved, she knew everything would be on the line. Reva felt dizzy. and now Robert McCall was involved.  
  
She had known of his position and its slim, risky ties in the Company echelon. She also knew how dangerously close he had come to being terminated. With her around, neither Mickey nor McCall were safe. She knew her Yellow status carried with it a death sentence to any Company agent who got near her, she'd been warned of that. The hideous reality of being designated Code Red made her literally sick with dread. Her own status was equally in question.  
  
"Mickey," Robert greeted. Reva looked a little surprised at the accent, not recalling anything about his being British from her scant few days in the Company. He had certainly never said anything to her about it. Then again he hadn't revealed much about anything at all.  
  
"Robert," Mickey responded in kind as they came to a stop before him. "This is Reva Cheney. Reeve, this is Robert McCall." McCall was peeling off a glove, holding a hand out to her.  
  
"A pleasure," he said by way of greeting, smiling gently. Reva accepted his hand and tried to avoid his hazel eyes. She couldn't speak for more reasons than one, but nodded and shook the firm hand offered her. Robert successfully hid his own reaction to the purple-black bruise across the top left of her skull and the line of stitching that stood out along her hairline. To put it mildly, the girl looked like hell. She looked like she hadn't slept at all. He glanced at Mickey, a silent question in his eyes, but he was inscrutable, and looked equally exhausted. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out something was up. Robert squelched the urge to say something. The girl looked very uncomfortable.  
  
"You must be very tired," Robert said soothingly, turning to open the front passenger door. "It's much warmer in here." He offered her the front seat. Reva cast a wary glance at Mickey, then looked at Robert.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered in her damaged voice. Mickey gently squeezed the back of her neck and let her go. She slid into the seat as Robert's eyebrow shot up at the sound of her voice. She felt grateful for Mickey's scarf, hiding her scarred throat. She clenched at the beanie in her coat pocket and settled wearily into the warm leather seat. Robert gently shut the door and turned to gaze at Mickey.  
  
"Can't speak very well," he said by way of explanation to Robert's quizzical gaze. "Nerve damage to her throat."  
  
"From the carjacking?" he asked. Mickey shook his head, his own hands now clenched into fists inside his jacket pockets.  
  
"Further back than that," Mickey stated. He met Robert's level stare.  
  
"Anything more happen after your rather dramatic exit from the hospital? It's been all over the papers this morning," Robert commented, a shade terse. Mickey didn't react.  
  
"Not a thing," he drawled. He never broke eye contact. Robert eyed him and accepted it.  
  
"Well, Thank God you're here in one piece now. Although I dare say she looks worse for the wear."  
  
"It's been a rough week on her," Mickey admitted, feeling a strange sense of relief. "She just left the hospital from some surgery on her throat when the attack occurred," he explained. Robert looked at him, his eyes intense.  
  
"Dear God!" he breathed. Mickey only nodded.  
  
"She hasn't really reacted to killing the guy either," he added. "She seemed to be in shock still when I arrived last night."  
  
"And the disc?" Robert asked.  
  
"Left it behind, don't want 'em to find us that easily." Mickey pointed out. Robert nodded approval.  
  
"Get in, Mickey," he said, seeing how really tired he was. "We'll talk more later. I've barely had time to get some inquiries going. It'll be a while before anything comes up. In the mean time, you both could use some sleep."  
  
"Amen to that..." Mickey drawled and climbed into the car.  
  
  
  
Robert took them to Long Island. When he had checked into Reva's bibliographical history in one of the books she had illustrated, he learned she lived near the water. That helped him to decide that the beach safe house he maintained would be the best place to go, if just to help her to relax some. He kept a place near Long Beach, not too big or too small, within easy walking distance of the beach itself. He'd had Jimmy thoroughly check the place over, laying in supplies, getting it ready for them.  
  
For a few minutes, Mickey filled Robert in on the events he knew about. From the time Reva's house had been watched and entered, to the carjacking attempt and the discovery of the positioning device in the truck. That device prompting Mickey's decision to get Reva out of the hospital and into safety. They fell silent afterwards, each lost in their own thoughts, Reva silently staring out the window. Before too long Robert pulled into the driveway of a three bedroom home perched a block off the sandy windswept beaches.  
  
The boom of pounding surf met their ears, along with a stiff, knifing breeze and the tang of salt air. Robert opened her door as Mickey climbed out. Reva shivered, letting Mickey take her arm gently as they followed Robert to the door.  
  
"Jimmy stopped by your place and picked up some clothes," Robert said noticing Mickey's low-key possessiveness.  
  
"And he survived?" Mickey asked.  
  
"He looked green.," Robert admitted as Mickey looked around the room, carefully steering the girl along.  
  
"Master bedroom's at the back. It has its own washroom." Robert suggested, nodding down the hallway. He looked at Reva. "I don't have much in the way of clothes for young ladies, but I had Ginger gather some thing's together. Jimmy will have set them in there."  
  
She gave him a wan smile, nodded her thanks and let Mickey guide her along. For a moment, they disappeared from Robert's sight, then Mickey reemerged, shutting the door behind him. He glanced in at the spare room, saw his duffel lying on the foot of the bed, then joined Robert in the living room.  
  
Robert stood staring out the sliding glass doors at the view of the beaches. He hadn't removed his coat yet.  
  
"Do you suspect any kind of assassination attempt here, Mickey?" he asked.  
  
"Nope," he replied, peeling off his jacket. He began unloading weapons. Robert glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "At least not yet anyway."  
  
"What do you want to do? Rest now or tell me about Miss Cheney?"  
  
"What do you want to know?"  
  
"Why would someone put a Global satellite positioning device in her truck?"  
  
"That's the $100,000.00 question," Mickey replied, unclipping his holster and peeling it off.  
  
"Mickey..." Robert gazed at him with a familiar stern, steady look. "What is it you aren't telling me? If we're to help this girl, we need to know everything. That girl..." He nodded his head towards the Master bedroom. "Is terrified of something. Why would somebody bother with a Children' book illustrator?"  
  
"How does forgery sound to you?"  
  
"Forgery?" Robert exclaimed. "In what?"  
  
Mickey only smirked slightly, picked up his .45 and popped the clip out.  
  
"Handwriting, signatures..." He heaved a sigh. "Reva worked at one of the federal buildings in New York five years ago, as a paper shuffler, trying to make ends meet as she tried getting on with one of the big publishing companies."  
  
"That led to forgery?" Robert snapped.  
  
"No... One of the staff told her she'd never amount to anything, so Reva signed her way into the job he wanted," Mickey looked like an overgrown kid, despite absently tearing his .45 to pieces. "Jimmy didn't bring my cleaning kit did he?" he asked McCall, who stared at him in a mixture of surprise and disbelief.  
  
"How would I know? Mickey... what position did she get?"  
  
"Staff driver..." he said as he rose and headed down the hall, he reemerged seconds later, smiled in delight, and held up a black leather case. He came around the couch, sat down and began laying out the pieces of his gun. Robert pointed his finger towards the far bedroom.  
  
"Kostmayer, that girl is no staff driver!" he snapped, watching Mickey unzip the case and haul out the various implements needed for cleaning a gun.  
  
"That's what I told her."  
  
"Then how did she get away with it?"  
  
"It didn't last long, she got caught a week later by one of the head honchos, who told her it could mean prison, and he wanted to know how and why she did it." He began to carefully clean the various pieces of his .45 with a small, clean, white rag.  
  
"And?"  
  
"He uh, kept her on... and began training her in other things as well."  
  
"He what?"  
  
"McCall, until you see how fast Reva can draw... no pun intended," he nodded at what he was doing. "You'd appreciate what that guy saw. She's got a photographic memory and can draw really good. Funnel that talent in the right direction..."  
  
"And you'd get a formidable forger. Able to sign anyone's signature."  
  
"Able to lay out entire rooms, schematics..." Mickey added.  
  
"Able to draw anyone she sees, including people of interest to a government organization." Robert began to pace the room, looking thoughtful.  
  
"Which is where Reeve's budding espionage career came to an abrupt end." Mickey selected a long, thin, wire brush and began to stuff it in the barrel of his pistol. Robert looked at him.  
  
"Go on..." The older man, sighed.  
  
"Reeve stayed with this fella for a year, I reckon workin' part time at her job and the rest of the time for him. He did train her in the use of firearms, and some hand to hand stuff, but apparently she was needed when there were some terrorists invited to a media party, where she could get in and get a good look at them. She was to do only that. She admitted to actually taking the time to draw up the pictures and was spotted by the wife of one of the men. She went after Reeve with a broken wine carafe..."  
  
"Which nearly tore out her throat?" Robert asked grimly  
  
"Severin' the nerves to her vocal cords." Mickey replied, nodding his head.  
  
"What happened afterwards?" Robert asked as Mickey began to stuff the rag down the barrel with the slender brush.  
  
"Apparently she was retired, moved to Maine and pursued her drawing career. You should see the awards she's won." Mickey paused, thinking about the house in Wiscasett. He tugged the rag out of the barrel. "She says she knows someone is watching the place all the time, but in October she says people were entering the house, looking for things. She had some scar tissue removed from her throat the other day and on her way home knew somebody was following her."  
  
"Where the truck then broke down, the two men assault her and she kills one of the assailants..." Robert's eyes narrowed as his mind raced. "We need the identity of that attacker," he murmured.  
  
"We need to figure out who spotted me in Wiscasett, to have me hauled off my vacation."  
  
"What do you mean?" Robert glanced sharply at him.  
  
"It's been buggin' me since I met her, Robert. We were just starting to get to know one another, when my leash gets jerked. Control offered me a plum job taking out supply routes in the Balkans, with a hefty bonus pack upon completion. Only I was gone six months in doing it..."  
  
"You think someone spotted you and spoke to Control?"  
  
"Possibly..." Mickey drawled, carefully oiling strategic locations on the various bits and pieces. He began wiping the excess oil off with another bit of clean rag.  
  
"What are you thinking, Mickey?"  
  
"MI5, the Israelis and the Company. They are the only three organizations I know of with access to those global discs. Whoever wants Reeve, wants her bad enough to go through the trouble of spending a lot of money on locating her. My guess is an insider, or someone she may have seen at some point in time."  
  
"Like one of the terrorists?" Robert mused.  
  
"Could be... my guess is it would be someone who knows about her ability to forge."  
  
"Who was the fellow she usurped for the driver's position?"  
  
"She didn't say..." Mickey replied. He began reassembling the gun.  
  
"We need to find out. We also need to know who she worked for..." Robert looked in the direction of the master bedroom.  
  
"McCall," Mickey said carefully, gazing steadily at the other. "We need to let her get some sleep..." His hands moved swiftly as he slapped the clip in, jacked the slide, loaded a shell into the barrel, and pointed the weapon at the opposite wall while his thumb hit the safety. He ejected the clip again, slipped his hand into the leather case before him and began reloading those rounds he spent earlier in Maine. Robert's eyes narrowed, as he looked back at the other man.  
  
"Mickey, we aren't going to have a problem here are we?" he asked. Mickey slapped the clip back in as his dark eyes lifted to meet McCall's.  
  
"No problem at all," he said, carefully setting the .45 on the coffee table. He reached over and pulled the guard's .38 revolver to him.  
  
"I can't help but notice a little more regard on your part for Miss Cheney."  
  
"If you're referring to Sydney, this isn't the same," Mickey replied flatly, his voice lowering. Robert's chin came up, his shoulders squaring as he stiffened. He leveled a steely gaze at Kostmayer.  
  
"You've taken responsibly for this girl's safety upon yourself, Kostmayer," his voice alone could have dropped the temperature a few degrees. "If you think you've lost your objectivity, I want to know about it now!" he snapped. An electric tension filled the air.  
  
"This is not the same," Mickey repeated, his voice low and calm. "Sydney was an accident. Which you've already chewed me out about several years ago. Reeve is different. It won't happen again."  
  
"How different?" Robert demanded.  
  
"Sydney happened!" Mickey snapped back at the lash in Robert's voice. "Reva, I..." he glared at Robert. "Reva, I care about. And if you think for one minute I wouldn't fight to the death to protect her, guess again!"  
  
"I'll remember you said that," Robert replied in a low dangerous tone.  
  
"I wasn't working for you when I met her, Robert!" Mickey growled, nodding towards the master bedroom. "This is a different situation altogether!"  
  
Robert scrutinized Mickey, hearing the conviction in his words. It was one thing to commit a breach of ethics when working for someone, but it did become a different matter entirely when the person you cared about was the one who needed protection. Robert knew he'd fight to the death too, if anyone harmed his children. He knew also that Mickey had already jeopardized his very existence in removing Reva from the hospital.  
  
There were, however, too many unresolved questions about Reva Cheney and Kostmayer really had not had much time to get to know the girl.  
  
"Remember this also, Mickey," he warned sternly. "We haven't established yet if anything she's said is true."  
  
"You want to go in there and tell her that?" Mickey's hands moved again, tearing the .38 apart as if the metal was on fire. "After having just killed a guy trying to bash her brains in?" He held up a warning finger. "You even think about going into that room to wake her up and I swear I'll take a kneecap out." His delivery was decidedly calm and relaxed. Mickey's entire face had gone blank, only the eyes showed a scary certainty. Robert eyed Kostmayer back and very slowly, an approving smile lifted the corner of his lips.  
  
"All right Mickey," he replied, his voice gentler. "You've proven your point. However, there are things about your Miss Cheney which still need to be cleared up." He relaxed his shoulders, straightening his coat.  
  
"I'm going to see if I can talk Jimmy into going to Wiscasett for a few days. He'd probably welcome the opportunity to get away from fighting with his ex-wife. I also want to see what the coroner came up with." He fished his car keys out of his pocket and didn't see Mickey drop his head slightly in relief. "Get some rest until I get back, then I'll spell you a while. I shouldn't be more than two, three hours." He looked up to see Mickey run his hand through his hair, his eyes lowered.  
  
"McCall," he said as Robert headed for the door. The older man paused, looking back at Kostmayer. "This time I won't let you down... I promise." He met Robert's eyes. The older man smiled slightly.  
  
"I know you won't, Mickey, I know you won't." With that, he turned and left.  
  
  
  
Mickey sat for several long minutes after the front door had been locked and the Jaguar had driven away. He stared at the dismantled .38, then heaved a relieved sigh and rose. He tapped softly on Reva's door. Not hearing a response, he opened it a bit, looked in, and frowned in dismay.  
  
Robert's choice in the beach house had proven to be a wise one. Still in her coat, Reva had simply laid down on the far edge of the bed, her back to him, and was now completely out. One hand hung over the bed, the other, still with bandages on her fingers, gently pillowed her head. Dark gold hair lay in disarray clear past her shoulders. Mickey disappeared for a moment, going back into the spare room he had claimed, and stripped the blankets off the bed. He smiled slightly to himself that he had already done this chore not quite eight hours previously.  
  
At first Reva never noticed him as he knelt across the bed and slipped off her shoes. She did however groan as he eased off the coat. As she started to roll towards him, he shushed her quietly and stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. He tucked the blankets around and paused to stroke away the hair off her face. A soft plaintive moan met his ears, then she slowly relaxed, dropping off into a deep, exhausted slumber.  
  
Mickey waited until her features relaxed and the frown between her brows disappeared. He started to get off the bed and remembered something. Diving into her coat pocket he pulled up the otter beanie baby. Smiling at it, he tucked it under her chin, then slipped quietly out of the room.  
  
  
  
Robert's first stop that morning was at Jimmy's. It took him a considerable amount of time to convince him to go to Wiscasett. The unhappily divorced man finally conceded, when offered a stiff cash advance and enough to keep him occupied on his errands in Maine. His instructions were clear, go to Reva's hometown, see who could have been watching the house and who'd have recognized Mickey. Then to Bath, to find what he could on the coroner's report. Robert then went in search of his computer hacker.  
  
Jonah, having been previously notified, had the chore of finding out anything he could on Reva Cheney with a side warning not to let any of the three espionage networks know what he was up to.  
  
Bank accounts, financial statements, employment and hospital records, education, activities, anything the computer whiz could bring up and print. It all waited in a thick manila envelope by the time Robert appeared on his doorstep. Jonah had obtained much of the information under the auspices of writing a biography on the girl for her publishing company.  
  
Having instigated a few more lines of questioning, Robert returned to the beach house. As he unlocked the front door he was cautious enough to announce his presence to Mickey. With good reason...  
  
Disheveled light brown hair falling into his face, Mickey had come up off the couch in less than a heartbeat. One knee dug into the armrest, the other foot planted firmly on the floor, leaning hard into a two handed pistol grip with the .45. On seeing Robert's face, he closed his eyes with a sigh, dropped his head and allowed the gun to swing loose in his hands by its trigger guard.  
  
"Good thing you said something," he said dryly. Robert only smiled slightly as Mickey thumbed the safety back on. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back off his face, then dropped down on the couch. Robert locked the door behind him, glanced down the hall and saw the door slightly ajar.  
  
"Have you been checking on her?"  
  
"Every two hours in cases of concussion," he replied as if reading the textbook. "Only I figure she'd been at the hospital about 24 already, so I've been making sure she's sleeping all right." Robert nodded, and entered the dining room were he set the folder and began peeling off his gloves.  
  
"I've sent Jimmy to Wiscasett, he's going to stop in Bath and check on that coroner's report. I'll be here going through what Jonah came up with for me." He took off his overcoat, folded it neatly and laid it over the back of one of the chairs. "If the phone rings, it will be Jimmy." He looked at Kostmayer.  
  
"Go and get some sleep, Mickey. I'll look in on her," he said, loosening his tie. Mickey didn't have to be told twice, he just got up, still carrying his .45 and retreated to a spare bedroom. Robert brewed tea.  
  
Settling down on the couch with his cup and the folder, he balanced the file on his knee, pulled out his reading glasses from inside his suit jacket and began to read.  
  
Reva Cheney had a reasonably blissful, normal life. Her birth records showed her to have been born in Seattle to Douglas and Cindy Cheney. He, a Boeing engineer; she, an accountant. The only bump at first to appear in the girl's life happened less than three weeks after her birth when her parents were killed in a car accident. Custody transferred to Douglas Cheney's parents, Admiral Thornton Cheney USN and his wife Lois. For all intents and purposes her grandparents, were her parents. Robert frowned slightly, Admiral Cheney had been a highly distinguished Navy man, he had heard of his accomplishments in both WWII and Korea. Aside from that early tragedy, Reva lived the life of a normal child, normal that is for being a lightning artist.  
  
From the age of six she began winning contests and awards from local grocery store shopping bag coloring contests to national competitions. By the time she reached high school, several scholarships had been offered and upon graduation she had accepted the offer of one of the most prestigious commercial and graphic arts institutes in the country, located in New York City.  
  
The next set of tragedies to come along had been the death of her grandparents. Reva had been 16 when Lois Cheney died of natural causes in her sleep. Three years later Admiral Cheney succumbed to cancer. Reva had postponed entering college to care for him. Robert frowned again.  
  
He had been at Thornton Cheney's funeral at Arlington National Cemetery. Cheney had been buried with the full military honors, complete with 21-gun salute. Robert counted the years back. Reva had to have been 19 or 20 years old then. Like a will o' the wisp a memory came back to him. A small slender girl dressed head to toe in black, silently accepting the folded flag that had draped the casket and looking a hundred years old. Robert's eyes squinted as he recalled the reason why he had been there. He had never met Admiral Cheney. Control had asked him to go along with him.  
  
Control. The man had been as vague and mysterious as always at that funeral. He had hardly spoken a word and insisted on staying back, refusing to mingle with the crowd. A bony ice-cold finger began to trail its way up Robert's spine. He continued reading.  
  
Reva entered college the following semester after Cheney's death, settling on Long Island itself, only further east, just past Mastic Beach. She graduated cum laude and began working for various ad agencies as she pursued the publishing houses for a permanent job. She finally succeeded four years ago and won the Caldecott Award two years later. She soon settled down to a successful career in Wiscasett, able to work at home, doing what she did best.  
  
There was no mention of her ever working as a filing clerk for a federal building in New York or anywhere else in the United States. Robert paused, sipping at his tea, his mind racing. Presently he heaved a sigh. The situation was beginning to circle more and more around the Company. He continued reading. What he read about her financial situation raised both eyebrows.  
  
The girl never needed to work again.  
  
She had it made. With the inheritance from her father and grandfather, their mutual life insurance policies plus Navy benefits from the Admiral's death, shrewdly invested, Reva could have lived comfortably off the interest, alone. The $40,000.00 a year she made from the publishing company paled in comparison to that and the royalties coming off the sales of any of her books, lithographs, and originals. It was where Reva had special accounts set up that caught Robert's attention.  
  
No secret Swiss accounts existed for this girl. Though world famous for being the place to keep secret accounts, there was one other place even more renowned than Switzerland and even more private and inaccessible. A place where not only Robert himself had an account or two, but most any British or American agent in their particular game had them also.  
  
The Isle of Man.  
  
Robert dug deeper and found in the cache of papers the only information available on Reva's transactions at home. Starting four years back, once a month, a consistently regular deposit was made to her home account from the Isle of Man accounts, along with the royalty checks, paychecks, and quarterly interest deposits. Professionals strictly handled her income tax returns and any accounting practices were also handled on the legal up and up. Why was there a regular deposit coming to the home account from the Isle, starting from four years ago?  
  
Robert sat back, lifting off his glasses and rubbing at his tired eyes. Something did not ring right with this girl, but what was it? Did she have some sort of secret yearning for forgery and espionage? Was he dealing with a danger freak? Was she lying to Mickey, drawing him in? Who had she worked for and why wasn't it on the public records? Why would someone want to track her? Too many questions, and now he had been getting that uncomfortable feeling that he was going to have to go to Control to get any answers.  
  
He slipped his glasses back on and read the remainder of her files. Once settled in Wiscasett, Reva hadn't traveled, although she had gone to Europe and the Polynesians during her college days. She had a yearning to live near the water. He dug some more. According to Mickey, an irate terrorist's wife had attacked her. The broken wine carafe doing severe damage to her vocal chords. So where were the medical records? He found her birth announcement and vaccination records... and nothing else. Robert shuffled through the paper work, searching it over again. There were no medical reports. Nothing. Robert's teeth set. There weren't even any records of having been in any hospital in the past two weeks, let alone being readmitted for the assault. Robert dragged the glasses off his face, dropped the file on the coffee table and rose. He headed straight into the master bedroom.  
  
Silent as a cat, he came around the bed and looked down at Reva Cheney. The bruise across her skull and the stitches along her scalp were certainly not faked. He looked puzzled at a little otter toy that lay on her pillow. Reva had rolled onto her back and was sleeping hard. Robert reached down and gently pulled the blankets past her neck.  
  
There was no mistaking that kind of damage. The three angry red claw marks that reached across and down her throat made his eyes widen in surprise. Parallel to where her vocal chords should have been was an old scar from a tracheotomy, next to which were the current stitches from the operation to remove the scar tissue. She was permanently wearing the proof of extensive medical treatment on her throat. Who knew how much went into the rehabilitation, and whatever kind of compensation she took to handle the loss of her ability to speak. None of which was accounted for.  
  
Robert knew Jonah had been very thorough. So why had Reva's medical files vanished into thin air? He gazed thoughtfully at her. Mickey's instincts very rarely ever led him wrong. He had had to trust him on those instincts many times. Would they be any different now, seeing Mickey actually cared for someone? How could so many difficult questions be bundled up in one small, slender young woman? Robert heaved a sigh and knew he wasn't going to like the answers.  
  
  
  
The first few came in that night.  
  
When Mickey had awakened around 6:00pm, he first checked Reva, who was still out, then joined Robert in the dining room. Robert handed him the files on Reva and went about to make them some dinner. As Mickey read, Robert pointed out that he had been at the funeral of the Admiral with Control and remembered seeing Reva there. Mickey confirmed to Robert that Reva had mentioned her grandfather had been in the Navy. When he hit the financial records, Mickey let out a low whistle, explaining to Robert about the house in Wiscasett being expensive and immaculate. He agreed with Robert that the Isle accounts were strange, but if she had indeed worked for one of the federal agencies, it wouldn't be totally unheard of to have them. Which agency being the question. The regular deposits from the Man accounts certainly coincided with the timing of her tragedy.  
  
As for no record existing of her employment with one of them, most everyone had at some point in time worked "under the table". Robert agreed that could be it, but didn't think so in light of the missing medical records. Mickey was also struck by Reva's lack of any family. Even he had a brother and several dozen cousins. Reva had nothing. He was beginning to understand more her pain and resignation. Still, Mickey felt disturbed when he finished reading. He explained to McCall the situation with her throat needing the surgery, and of her mentioning the need for extensive training in Ameslan in order to "speak", when need be. Why no medical and therapeutic records existed of it escaped him at the moment.  
  
Not an hour after Mickey got up, Jimmy called in, with Robert catching the call. He was silent as he listened, Mickey watching, as Robert grew increasingly somber. An air of tension and pent up stress began to fill the room. When he hung up the receiver, McCall looked at Mickey.  
  
"Jimmy found something," he murmured. Kostmayer raised a curious eyebrow.  
  
"Well?"  
  
Robert studied him a moment.  
  
"You're hunch was right." He narrowed his intense eyes, lightly rubbing the fingers of his left hand against the thumb, thinking. "You were spotted, and she has been watched..."  
  
"By who?" Mickey growled.  
  
"Jimmy knows the vet. Dr. Richard Laskar." A cold dread began to fill Robert. He stared hard at the wall as his mind kicked into high gear.  
  
Mickey frowned, startled. "Knows him how?"  
  
"They were in training together." He glanced at Mickey. "Jimmy says he worked for a short time for the Company." A pin could've dropped in that house and have been heard. Mickey's face had gone totally blank. His eyes locked with Robert's, as he cursed under his breath. His mind recalling the vet in his office, three days before his vacation had gotten cut off.  
  
"You realize what this implies don't you?" Robert warned. Mickey didn't answer.  
  
"We need to wake her up..." Robert said softly.  
  
"She couldn't have worked for the Company." Mickey protested quietly. Robert saw the pained look flash briefly in his eyes.  
  
Robert sighed and reached for his coat. "I'm going to leave you to find out what and who she worked for." Robert said gently. "We need to know soon..." He drew the coat on and pulled out his gloves. Mickey broke eye contact, looking suddenly troubled.  
  
"Where are you going?" Mickey asked.  
  
Robert set his lips, grim. "To ask an old friend some questions."  
  
  
  
  
  
For a long time Mickey sat in the chair in the dining room and couldn't bring himself to move. The thought of Reva being employed at the Company filled him with a vast, empty ache. He struggled with himself, his growing feelings for her, his Company loyalties, the insistent instinct that Reva had been telling him the truth, all collided with that thought. Reva, a Company agent? He focused his anger towards Laskar. There'd be a reckoning there, one way or another. Other thoughts crowded into his mind, but Mickey refused to contemplate them, horrible as the thoughts were. He forced himself up and went into the master bedroom.  
  
Reva winced and gasped out loud at the pain in her skull, as she jerked her head away from the bedside lamp being turned on.  
  
"Sorry..." Mickey said quietly as he sat on the bed next to her. She only groaned in response and rolled away from him. He rested a hand on her shoulder. "Reeve..." he said. "Wake up." The soft tone in his voice did more to penetrate her sleep-drugged mind than anything else. She rubbed at her eyes with her good hand and struggled to push away the blankets with the other. Blearily, she looked at him.  
  
Mickey's face was blank and grim. He had showered at some point and had changed into clean jeans and a dark blue sweater with snowflakes and two deer on the front of it. His hair was swept back off his face. One look at his dark eyes told her enough. Reva shoved the blankets down, shrugged off his hand and pushed herself back against the headboard. She wrapped her arms around her knees, literally curling herself into a tight little ball. Mickey hated seeing it. He could tell by the look in her grey eyes that she knew something was up.  
  
"You've got to tell me everything," he said quietly, gently.  
  
Reva swallowed hard, eyeing his face. "What happened?" she whispered thickly.  
  
Mickey looked away, he couldn't stand the sight of the hopelessness filling her eyes.  
  
"Your vet in Wiscasett is a Company spy," he said softly. He didn't see the shock that registered in her eyes right away. She denied it.  
  
"That's impossible!" she hissed, shaking her head.  
  
"We found out tonight." Mickey said gently, looking at her sadly.  
  
"No!" Reva gasped out harshly. "I've known him for years. There's no way."  
  
"Reva..." Mickey sucked in air. "He's the only one in Wiscasett who saw me with you. A friend of ours recognized him for what he was... I had to leave shortly after, it adds up."  
  
"No!" Reva snapped, her voice unable to rise. She began to shake.  
  
"Reva..." he said, trying desperately to be careful. "You've got to tell me who you worked for."  
  
She literally exploded off the bed. The gasp of fear and horror that came out of her nearly tore him in two as she gained her feet and staggered against the opposite wall. Mickey dove after her, his hand barely catching her forearm.  
  
"No!" she 'shrieked' wrenching her arm from his grasp.  
  
"Reva!" he snapped, trying to cut through the sudden panic.  
  
She braced herself up against the wall, looking anywhere but at him as he scrambled across the bed and stood up. He knew better than to try and grab her. She shook her head no, her hair obscuring her face. She gasped in fright.  
  
"Reeve," he pleaded forcing composure on himself. He didn't make another move towards her. She raised a shaky hand to her face, trying to overcome her own panic, fighting hard not to succumb to threatening tears.  
  
For several minutes, silence reigned as Mickey let her regain herself. More than anything, he wanted to just reach out and wrap her in his arms.  
  
"You know about me don't you?" he asked softly, referring to himself being a Company operative. Shaking with fright and adrenaline, Reva nodded.  
  
"When did you figure it out?" he asked.  
  
"Last night..." she whispered in a tone sounding so utterly lost. "When you mentioned McCall..."  
  
Mickey saw her jaw setting, her eyes huge, dark, and full of dread. Mickey barely nodded.  
  
"Who did you work for Reva?" he asked gently.  
  
She sucked in air, lifting her head, staring down the hallway, and grabbing her arms, her knuckles white.  
  
"The Company..." she whispered, her thoughts far away.  
  
Mickey closed his eyes in despair. "Under who?" he prompted, looking back at her.  
  
Reva struggled, her jaw clenched tight. Her whispered response was filled with bitter anger.  
  
"He never told me his name!"  
  
  
  
  
  
Mickey would have taken anyone but him. As the knowledge sank in, he slowly sat back down on the bed. Speechless, he could only stare at Reva. She sucked in air again, pulling her hair back out of her face, still braced against the wall, the open collared shirt she wore clearly displaying the angry scars and stitches on her throat. Mickey stared at them, more and more realization stirring in him waves of emotions threatening to rip him to pieces.  
  
"Control..." he said so quiet she barely heard him, but she nodded her head yes.  
  
"He was your escort that night." Mickey said flatly. Reva nodded again. He met her eyes.  
  
"He trained you in forgery..." Another nod. Mickey's voice began to get dangerously low.  
  
"He abandoned you to that..." he nodded at her scars. Reva could only nod. It grew uncomfortably still in the house.  
  
It was making a horrifying sense. She had mentioned the man who had been her boss as being very scary. He had seen a lightning artist literally cross his path and had taken the advantage as it came. So much like the man. He had spent the time training her, no doubt in anything possible, knowing one look from her quirky memory would seal it into her brain, able to be recalled and redrawn instantly and at will. Keeping it hushed up was Control's standard operating procedure. It staggered Mickey's mind knowing that Reva had been under his direct training for nearly a year. He himself had never spent more than a few days with the man and was constantly reminded of the immense power the man wielded. Control frightened everybody, except maybe Robert and himself.  
  
Having Reva watched, made sense. Her practiced use of firearms made a sickening sense. Her knowledge that he was some sort of spy began to make sense. Knowing about Robert McCall also made sense. Even the foresight to request the object in her truck's fuel tank fell into the same category. His being offered the Balkans job... Things were beginning to fall into place, rapidly and in a wholly ugly direction. What didn't make sense was the disc in her truck, the assault, and the abandonment after the terrorist attack on her.  
  
"Why?" he whispered in horror, "Why did he abruptly leave you like this?"  
  
"I... don't... know!" she grated out, unable to hide the anger. "I never saw him again. All I see is a regular deposit into my account to pay for the mess that's been left behind!" The bitterness cut the air like a knife. Mickey stared at her as another piece fell into place. Coldness swept through him. Mickey abruptly stood up, moving past her into the room he had been sleeping in. He emerged seconds later, carrying his pistol and heading into the front room. Reva frowned, following him.  
  
"Go get your coat and shoes," he said with icy calm as he retrieved his holster from the living room end table.  
  
Reva stood rooted in the hallway as he shrugged it on. He glanced at her as he clipped it into place.  
  
"Mickey..." she started.  
  
"If you think he ain't going to explain himself on this, guess again!" Mickey barely hid the rage building up inside of him. "That SOB sent me packing when Laskar reported I was with you!" he growled. "Go get your things on!"  
  
Reva refused to move. "He'll kill you," she said simply. "You're Red just being in my presence..."  
  
Mickey's head snapped up to glare at her.  
  
"What?" he hissed.  
  
Reva swallowed and gazed steadily at him. "Code Red," she whispered.  
  
Mickey stuffed the gun into its holder, his eyes never leaving hers. A huge hole was opening up underneath him.  
  
Reva clutched at her arms, looking scared, uncomfortable, and old. "Because of my status after I agreed to work under him.. .I was placed under Yellow." She blinked and looked down. "He told me no other Company agents could get near me because of what I carry up here..." She pointed at her skull. "I'm literally a risk to national security if anyone had access to what's in here." She looked down, swallowing the knot in her throat. "I can't live with the knowledge, Mickey, of someone I care about being killed because..."  
  
She looked up at him. The suddenly pronounced unhappiness in her face was like a slap in Mickey's own. Someone she cared about, resounded in his ears. Mickey could only stare at her, numbed to the core. Reva shook, her eyes wide but certainly not seeing what was around her, memories swirled like smoke in her grey eyes.  
  
"How was I to know?" she whispered, her words sounding lost. "I was naive as a rock. I didn't know this was a life sentence to spending the rest of my days alone..." Her voice caught a moment. Reva stuffed a knuckle between her teeth, biting so hard she left visible marks. Mickey tried to speak, feeling the waves of anguish coming off from her, but couldn't. She slowly dropped her hand to grip her arms. Resignation filled her words.  
  
"It's the way it is... I've no one, Mickey. My Grandpa was my last living relative. He died 10 years ago. My parents died when I was a baby. I had no idea, that when I agreed to work for him, it would cost me any chance..."  
  
"No!" Mickey snapped and snapped her out of her reverie. He pointed a finger at her. "That's not going to happen." He was past the couch in a flash, taking her by the arms, turning her to face him.  
  
Reva shrank back, bringing her arms up but his grip was tight, insistent...  
  
"Listen to me..." he said, forcing her attention. "I won't let that happen," he said, emphatically. He searched her weary, bruised, scared face. She hunched her shoulders tighter and trembled under his grip, the hopelessness in her eyes refusing to die. He swallowed hard, struggling with his own emotions. He slowly relaxed the grip in his hands, released one and set it gently on her cheek.  
  
"I..." he started, paused and plunged. "I care about you, for the past few months all I could think about was you..." he murmured. "I haven't felt this way towards someone in so long that I'm not even sure it's for real!" He let go of her arm to hold her head in both hands, tilting it up, studying her eyes. "All I know, is that I want to find out if it is! And I won't let anyone stop me in finding out, least of all him." Reva's hands came up to grip his, her own eyes searing into his soul, hardly believing what he was saying to her. "I will not abandon you to a life with no hope."  
  
A wild thought stuck him, helping him to redirect the tidal wave threatening him. His entire face reflected it, causing Reva to frown in confusion.  
  
"There's a way out of this, Reeve. You've got to trust me. You know that Robert lives under a Code Yellow, don't you? He probably knows more about the national security than you and I combined, yet he's still around. I work with him, and I know my own status is secure."  
  
"Around me your status is gone!" she whispered in protest. Mickey could feel the panic beginning to surface in her. He asserted calm.  
  
"Listen to me, you've got to trust me!" he urged. "There's a way around this thing. I know there is." Suddenly he smiled, ever so slightly, and she could see a crazy certainty dancing in his dark eyes. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms tightly around her, suddenly radiating out strength and comfort. Reva felt baffled by it.  
  
"Trust me on this one, Reeve, just this once," he said into her ear, laying his head gently against hers. He pulled her arms around to encircle his waist and hugged her close. He cupped her head gently in one hand and worked at the knots of tension in her neck with the other.  
  
Scared and reluctant at first, Reva closed her eyes and finally wrapped her arms around him to grasp her wrist at the small of his back.  
  
"It'll be all right, Reeve, you'll see," he murmured, feeling her grip tighten. Slowly the shaking left her, as he murmured in her ear, until finally she sighed, the wave of tension and panic passing. Mickey just held her close.  
  
"You trusted me on the beach last summer when you told me about what happened to your throat, remember?" he said.  
  
"Yeah..." she whispered.  
  
"You trusted me last night to get you out of the hospital and I did." Mickey smiled slightly, still working out the knots in her neck, recalling just how he got her out of there.  
  
"Yeah...But,"  
  
Mickey drew back and looked at her worried face, his lopsided smile crooking into a smirk. "I'll have to tell you about that later, you were kinda out of it," he murmured.  
  
She sighed dropping her head. "I'm sorry..." she started to apologize.  
  
Mickey chuckled slightly, drawing her back to him. "Don't be." He hugged her tight, then pulled away, making her face him.  
  
"Listen to me, okay?" He searched her eyes. "I'll get you out of this mess, but first I want you to go and get a shower, I'll make you something to eat, and we'll talk about this thing with Control, all right? Just trust me...Don't be so scared, Reeve, there's a way out of this, I know there is."  
  
The smile on his face was gentle and tender, his words certain and sure. She gazed at him, the thoughts tumbling around in her brain.  
  
Her light grey eyes studied him a few seconds longer, then she nodded her head in agreement. Mickey gently lifted her head, kissed her lingeringly, then let her go...  
  
  
  
Some twenty minutes later, she emerged from a hot shower. Her damp hair was flipped over and back to one side, spilling haphazard dark curls all around her. It fell nearly to the bottom of her shoulder blades. She had put her jeans back on, no shoes and socks, and struggled with the sleeves of an overlarge, light blue, camp-shirt. Mickey, having finished grilling cheese sandwiches, glanced over at her as she came into the kitchen, still rolling cuffs onto the shirt.  
  
"Bit large?" he asked.  
  
"They didn't know..." she whispered.  
  
Mickey grinned, flipped the last sandwich over, relieved to hear a little humor in her 'voice'. "Better?" he asked.  
  
Reva looked at him and smiled slightly then glanced at a pot on the stove full of tomato soup. She suddenly realized just how hungry she was.  
  
"How'd you know I like tomato?" she whispered questioningly.  
  
"Been in your house, remember? Besides..." He picked up a can opener. "When it comes to a kitchen, this is the only thing I know how to use!"  
  
Reva looked at him and surprised him with her response. She began to laugh. "Why do I find that hard to believe? I remember that pick set you hauled out last night!"  
  
"Locks are easier than a kitchen," he drawled.  
  
She folded her arms and looked at him skeptically. "And what about my grill, last summer... the fish?" She reminded him.  
  
Mickey waved the spatula at her.  
  
"Fish, I know. Fish is my expertise. Fish I can grill, that's outside, not in a kitchen."  
  
She laughed again and shook her head slowly. He smiled his lopsided smile and glanced at her.  
  
"You need to do that more often." he said dryly.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Laugh."  
  
She blinked a surprised response. Mickey scooped the last sandwich up, joined it to a stack of six and shut the stove off. He noticed the goosebumps on her forearms.  
  
"You look cold. You want a sweater?" he asked, rummaging around in the cupboard for two bowls and two plates.  
  
"Yeah, if there's one around," she whispered.  
  
Mickey nodded, setting the table. "Dig in, I'll be right back." He vanished down the hallway.  
  
Reva served for both of them, noticing the pile of dishes in the sink already. He returned, shaking out a dark burgundy sweater.  
  
"Have you eaten already?" she asked.  
  
Mickey nodded, and handed her the sweater. "Yep, but I'm always hungry."  
  
She pulled the sweater on, flipped the long hair out with a practiced move. It was too big, but roomy and comfortable, and smelled very slightly of a man's cologne. It hung clear past her hips.  
  
"I could practically curl up in this," she remarked wryly, not seeing Mickey's look of amusement as he bit back a response. She shrugged her shoulders, smoothed down the front and glanced at him.  
  
"It's not bad..." he commented. "Looks better on you than on me." Reva only snorted, smirking a bit. Mickey pulled a chair out and nodded for her to sit. Before eating, he took her hand in his, looking her in the eyes.  
  
"I know you're scared, but just trust me, and especially trust McCall. He's the best at what he does. Between us, we'll get this mess straightened around, okay?"  
  
She nodded, trying to maintain a bit of levity. Mickey squeezed her hand reassuringly.  
  
"I'm gonna have to ask you a lot of personal questions, but if we're gonna get you out this mess, I have to know every angle involved. Understand?"  
  
"Yeah, I do." She nodded. "It's okay, Mickey. I've lived with this Damocles Sword so long, that I've gotten used to it hanging there." She gave him a brave smile.  
  
"Let's start with who it was you beat out in getting the staff driver's job," he asked, snagging a sandwich. Reva shook her head.  
  
"He was an obnoxious ass named Jason Masur," she whispered, spooning soup.  
  
Mickey nearly choked, looked at her, then burst out laughing. "You got in past Masur?"  
  
Reva looked at him confused. "You know him?" she asked, appalled.  
  
Mickey continued to laugh, his head tossed back, "Know him? I'd like to kill him."  
  
She stared at him. He had a devilish sparkle in his brown eyes, enormous mirth all over his face. She had the distinct knowledge that he'd do it, too.  
  
"He's the only person on the planet I'd gladly take my time in killin'." He shook his head, his smile beaming. "I love it!"  
  
Reva looked at him a moment longer, then smiled deviously, herself.  
  
"He pushed me a little too far that day he told me I wouldn't amount to anything. I couldn't let it slip by me. I'd let enough of his obnoxiousness by me as it was. His come on was pathetic, looking for camp followers."  
  
"He came on to you?" Mickey grinned and chomped into his sandwich.  
  
"What girl in the office didn't he come on to? He has this enormous ego..." Reva's eyes rolled. "Anyway, he knew I sometimes did drawings for people around the office. Portraits, you know, celebrities, politicians, then I'd sign their name if I had an autograph to look at. It was kind of an office joke amongst us girls. Well when Jason found out about it, he tried "recruiting" me to help him advance in his position in ways I just couldn't accept. Apparently he had been demoted for some reason or other. I refused and he got mad." She paused, thinking.  
  
"So, I got the girls in the office to get me the necessary paperwork for the advancement to the job he had been after. He wanted so bad to get back in with the top brass. I got the forms all filled out, then I got a hold of the signatures of certain folks and signed away..." She stopped, leaving off the 'my life', from the end of the sentence. Mickey smirked, still shaking his head.  
  
"I'd loved being a fly on the wall when he figured out who got the job," he drawled.  
  
"He wasn't very happy," she reassured.  
  
"So you drove a while until you picked up Control." he prompted.  
  
Reva took a deep breath, forcing calm.  
  
"I had no idea of his level in the Company. All that day I kept getting the feeling he was watching me, but when I'd glance back in the rear view, he'd have his face buried in paperwork. We drove all over town, he'd get out, do this do that, hardly said a word, other than give directions. I was really glad I glanced through a detailed map of New York City before tackling that job!" she sighed.  
  
"He finally had me pull over in Central Park. He just sat there for a few minutes, staring at the back of my head and finally asked me who the hell I was."  
  
"Sounds about right." Mickey commented.  
  
"I didn't know quite what to say." She shrugged. "He then systematically and in very great detail told me every single thing I did wrong that day." Reva smiled slightly. "You're right, I was no staff driver! He was very explicit. Funny thing about it was, he didn't act mad."  
  
"You don't ever want to see him that way..." Mickey reassured her.  
  
"After only being with him a day I figured that out real fast!"  
  
"Go on..."  
  
"He very pleasantly told me that I was a lousy imposter, that I was going to be facing a court martial and he would guarantee me 10 years in prison for a few dozen felony's if I didn't start explaining myself to him right away." She toyed with a sandwich, occasionally breaking off a piece and eating between pauses.  
  
"I told him everything. It just all tumbled out. I was scared stiff..." She looked a little distant then shook herself. "He didn't say anything for a long time. He just stared at me. I felt like a bug on display. But then he got a notepad out from his brief case and handed it to me." She looked at Mickey, one corner of her lip twitching as she recalled that day so long ago.  
  
"He began rattling off things to draw, moving from people, to signatures, to the floor plans of the office...each time he'd request the tablet back and check the work. Finally, he told me to draw him, only he warned me not to look back, and not to look in the rear view mirror." Reva shrugged, it not being a problem with her. "So I did, only I drew it of him looking at me like I was that insect." She looked at Mickey.  
  
"Is there a tablet around here?" she asked. Mickey smirked.  
  
"I'll find one." He got up and began searching around in the kitchen. "Keep talking."  
  
"When I handed it back, he stared at it a long time, then he began to laugh. Finally he told me that I was a real fool in doing what I did, and could he take me out to dinner?"  
  
"Dinner?" Mickey exclaimed, locating a notebook in an odds and ends drawer. He snagged out a pencil too and returned to the table. She nodded, looking at the tip of the pencil, like a surgeon would at a scalpel, then looking at Mickey, she began drawing on the tablet, not looking at it. Fascinated Mickey watched as she continued.  
  
"He made a few phone calls, clearing his slate for the evening and had me drive him to this exquisite Italian restaurant in Manhattan. Where we had dinner and he made me a job offer I simply couldn't refuse." She glanced down at the tablet, satisfied it was coming along and continued sketching dividing her attention between Mickey and the drawing.  
  
"From that day, he started in showing me things, he introduced me to his secretary, telling her that I would be joining him at night. He finagled upper class security clearances so I could come and go. He started in on the martial arts courses, arranged for me to start working part time at my publishers, and started training me in marksmanship, himself. I've spent many an hour in that shooting gallery in the basement..." She shot Mickey a knowing glance. Mickey smirked, he knew about that place. "I spent even more time in that office of his." With the implication that there was more to that room than met the eye. She lifted the pencil up and spun the notebook around for him to see.  
  
Control stared back at him. It sort of rocked Mickey as he stared at it. That malevolent glare Control had long perfected, and used to intimidating heights, complete with his stern brow and trademark bow tie, his long chiseled face, everything. Add color and it could have been a photo. Mickey looked at it thoughtfully. Paint it just right, reproduce it on photo quality paper...no wonder Control had talked her into drawing the terrorist the night of her ill fated debut. He glanced at her noticing the pencil being jiggled in her fingers making it look like rubber. She smiled impishly at him, pulling the tablet back over. She tore off the picture of Control.  
  
"This is for you..." she whispered, grinning conspiratorially. She looked at the sheet a paper, and he could swear he saw a Rolodex spinning around in her head, then she began drawing, surely and accurately.  
  
Mickey studied her, this was the Reva he had originally met. Given pen and paper and free vent to her unusual talents, and she was content. She resumed her narrative.  
  
"He really started in focusing this gift of mine into some pretty wild directions. It was a little scary at first, he'd keep warning me that what I was being shown was highly top secret and that governments would pay big money for the knowledge he was pouring into my head." She glanced up at him. "He has a photographic memory too, you know?"  
  
"Oh yeah..." Mickey replied, laden with heavy intent. She kept drawing, only occasionally pausing long enough to eat something. Mickey happily scarfed down five of the sandwiches.  
  
"He seemed particularly happy when I could write letters in other peoples handwriting."  
  
Mickey blinked in surprise.  
  
"Given a few examples to look over and here it sits." She tapped her temple with the pencil. "Although I must admit, he didn't seem too thrilled when I started signing some of the stuff he'd test me on with his signature."  
  
"His signature? Nobody knows his name?" Mickey blurted. Reva nodded yes.  
  
"The upper level folks he reports to all know his signature simply as Control. I had been around him so much, watching him write reports, his handwriting is locked away with all the rest." Reva lifted the pencil, paused, doodled something quickly, signed it, and turned it to Mickey to see.  
  
He started chuckling. A man with a distinctly hooked nose, an arrogance about his eyes and dark curly hair stared back at Mickey with a look of high indignation. On the wall behind him was a fly. Under it was Jason Masur's own signature. Reva only smiled innocently, sipping at her soup as he shook his head.  
  
"That's when he found out..." she whispered.  
  
"Just like bein' there..." Mickey drawled. He was beginning to understand the scope and scale of Reva's ability. And the reason behind why she was such a risk...if she could write and sign Control's name to things...the implications left him feeling chill. He turned the notebook back to her. She tore off the picture, absently adding it to the other one, gazed at it a moment, and began drawing another one.  
  
"So when did Control warn you about the Code designations?" he asked, reluctant to have to turn their lighthearted banter to the more threatening issue at hand.  
  
"The week he started preparing me for that party, " she whispered. "By then, I had gotten so used to being around him. He sort of became...." She paused, gazing thoughtfully at the far wall. "I don't know, sort of like an older brother..." She glanced at Mickey, who gazed back at her, his features blank. Wondering in the back of his mind how anyone could think of Control as a brother?  
  
"He made sure I didn't get around anyone except the immediate office staff, he seemed to be making an awful lot of concessions towards me. He mentioned Robert, once. He never mentioned you. For a year, we had dinner maybe three, four, times a month. When the situation with the terrorists came up he sat me down in his office and told me what he had in mind. When I agreed to what he had said, he explained that I would be getting a considerable amount of money and gave me some suggestions on what to do with it and were to keep it. Then he explained that once I began to work as an operative for him there came the attachments involved. That's when he told me about the Codes. He scared the hell out of me when he told me I was already living under the Yellow. Then he told me that if anyone from the Company were to entertain any thoughts towards me..." she trailed off, looking at Mickey with those haunted eyes. The pencil stopped moving.  
  
"It'd be a death sentence..." Mickey finished for her. She nodded, quietly setting the pencil down.  
  
"If I had known you worked for the Company last summer..." she whispered regretfully. Mickey reached out and took her hand, no longer shy about doing it.  
  
"How were we to know, eh? I was just on vacation."  
  
"But he had to have been the one to recall you Mickey," she said.  
  
"Oh he did, gave me a job I couldn't refuse." He smirked. "But he didn't have me killed for being around you, did he?" He squeezed encouragement through his hand on hers. "He just got me out of the way..."  
  
"I still find it hard to believe Dr. Laskar..."  
  
"Believe it, Jimmy knew him in basic. And Jimmy is a good agent." Mickey confirmed.  
  
Reva heaved a sigh, the worried frown reappearing between her brows.  
  
"He'll know by now that I'm missing," she whispered.  
  
"Yes, but he'll not be able to prove how, or by whom." Mickey winked, then looked a little dubious. "Although he is a shrewd guesser."  
  
"And what about Mr. McCall?" she 'asked'.  
  
"Robert? Oh I wouldn't worry too much about him, his designation changes weekly." Mickey drawled. He looked at her.  
  
"What I can't figure out Reeve, is why Control abandoned you after the attack?"  
  
"I can't figure that out either," she sighed, looking down at the paper in front of her. "I think maybe it was because I took things into my own hands, trying to get the pictures drawn too soon."  
  
"That's no reason to leave an agent behind," Mickey growled softly.  
  
"It's the only thing I can figure out, " she protested. "I did bend his orders..."  
  
"Reeve..." Mickey looked at her skeptically. "I break his rules all the time, he hasn't left me hanging out to dry... especially having gone through what you've gone through? C'mon! I knew the guy could be heartless, but this takes the cake!"  
  
"He's not totally heartless..." she barely whispered not looking at Mickey.  
  
"Give me a break!" he growled. "If you could just hear some of the bitterness that comes out of you..." Reva drew in a deep breath, sitting back against her chair, looking off into the kitchen.  
  
"Oh yeah, there's bitterness, and anger. And fear," she whispered. She looked at him then, her grey eyes weary. She clenched his fingers in her slim hand. "What are we gonna do?" she whispered gazing at his face. Mickey saw the tiniest flicker of hope...  
  
"Trust me..." he said and began laying out to her his ideas of circumventing the rules.  
  
By the time he finished, Reva began to get a full understanding just how crazy the man was, sitting next to her at the dinner table.  
  
  
  
Robert first stopped at Jonah's. He wondered about the missing medical files, as did the computer hacker himself. Robert gave him another angle to try and had him start fishing up anything he could find on the Cheney's, parents and grandparents. Then he went home.  
  
The first set of watchers were trademark Company. Substandard, Robert groused to himself, irritated. The second set were a little trickier but there nonetheless. Robert nearly always had a debugger located both in the Jaguar and the apartment so didn't worry the slightest about those, but why two sets? The one was operating separate from the other, that much was apparent. He decided not to teach the agency pair a lesson in counter surveillance, though sorely tempted. He ignored both sets of them and went in to his apartment.  
  
He spent several minutes checking the answering machine, not receiving anything on the present situation at hand, then went and began packing himself an overnight case.  
  
As he ran errands, he went near Kostmayer's place, parking the Jaguar momentarily as he went to check the situation out on foot. Again, two sets of watchers, one from the Company, the other doing their best not to be noticed by anyone. Strange. Back on the road he kept a cautious eye out for tails, but none appeared as he headed for the one place he did not want to go back to...  
  
  
  
The evening was still early, but most of the clerical staff had already left for the day. He knew he was the only one left on his floor. The halls and cubicles outside were dark and empty and lifeless. 'Things' roamed the halls of empty buildings, often making people wonder if they were haunted and giving one the sense of being watched if you were left alone in them. That feeling was generally made worse in the halls of this particular agency. Simply because, usually, you were watched, except in his office.  
  
Not particularly caring about the 'eyes', real or imagined, he left the door open. The light from his desk lamp valiantly kept the darkness at bay, and he slowly tugged loose, the bow tie at his throat. He knew Robert was coming. A twist of the fingers unfastened the top button of his collar and he sighed as he gazed down at a folder and a few scribbled notes that had been handed to him at various points in time that day. His own sense of foreboding mingled with irritation and a tightly controlled anger. He wasn't going to let thirty years of hard work get flushed down the toilet because of an agent with a screw loose. He, himself, had already nearly messed it up, he wasn't about to let it happen ever again. His mind was already concocting ways of diffusing the situation. What troubled him was that Robert knew, and if Robert knew...  
  
Jimmy had been the tip off. Laskar had promptly reported to Control's contacts at the publishing house that Jimmy had recognized him. Control knew Jimmy certainly hadn't been there by accident. Then there was Kostmayer. Why couldn't he just be like his normal agents? Handling Kostmayer was like trying to juggle eels, they were constantly moving, always slippery, and you'd never knew which one would electrocute you. Normally he'd let Kostmayer's actions slide by, but this... this was something else entirely. A chance happening he could let go, but not this time.  
  
With Jimmy entering the picture, he had another problem to deal with, and that was one he really didn't want to have to face. Added to that was the satellite disc found in the hospital. It was one of theirs and had been missing since October. How had that ended up in her truck? Then there were his few superiors, if they knew one of his "special" codes was seen with a Company agent... Control smiled ever so slightly, looking sinister as his blue eyes focused on nothing in the office, but worked out plan after plan, detail after detail. He had a real basketfull of snakes on his hands, and it was about to get worse.  
  
  
  
Sometimes he wondered if his first name should've been Damage.  
  
  
  
Anyone with an ounce of brains automatically steered clear of Robert McCall whenever he appeared on the grounds of the agency complex. Even the security guards were given advance warning that if a certain 'retired' senior operative was to show up, they were to let him pass unhindered. To the few evening workers on other floors, there were nods of greetings, looks of surprise and respect and then there were the others, those who distinctly did not like him. They automatically vanished. Robert ignored them all. He just went straight in, got the elevator and went up.  
  
In his office, Control heard his footsteps clear down the hall, casually slipped the notes off the file in front of him into his desk, then reached around behind him for a decanter half filled with liquid and two glasses. He wondered who needed it more.  
  
  
  
Robert entered the room looking aggravated and stern, which wasn't very far from how he normally looked, especially when in Control's office. Blandly, Control glanced up at him, a curious look on his face.  
  
"Robert?" he asked. McCall stood in the doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat pockets, his lips set in disapproval.  
  
"Expecting me?" he asked, his voice clipped. Control smirked ever so slightly.  
  
"As a matter of fact..." He tipped his head towards the decanter. Robert's eyes narrowed suspiciously.  
  
"I didn't come here for a social call," he snapped.  
  
"I didn't think you were," Control sighed, propping his head on his fist, looking at the other man, with a raised eyebrow. "Are you going to stand in the doorway all night or would you like to sit down?"  
  
"As a matter of fact I think I'll stand!" Robert growled. "I want you to call your dogs off my apartment and Mickey's!"  
  
"They're just there to keep an eye on things." Control placated. Robert clearly didn't believe him.  
  
"I want them gone!" Robert barked. Control sighed, lifting his head up and holding out both hands.  
  
"I'll call them off if you tell Kostmayer to get himself into this office within the next six hours."  
  
"And why the bloody hell would I do that?"  
  
"Because the damn fool has got himself mixed up with a homicide investigation!" Control's own voice carried acid.  
  
"A what?" Robert snapped, surprised.  
  
"You're here to ask me about Reva Cheney, are you not?" Control asked, his eyes holding McCall's.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then I suggest you sit down, old son. I've a story to tell you."  
  
"I'm quite sure you have," Robert sarcastically replied. "And if you think for one minute you're going to get me to believe that girl was capable of murder, guess again."  
  
"Not only capable, but more than able." Control replied icily. He still held Robert's gaze, his own features as implacable as stone.  
  
"Prove it!" Robert barked. Control drew in a breath, sat back and shoved the file on his desk towards the empty chair across from him. He nodded at it.  
  
"Coroner's report from Bath, Maine. The man Cheney shot the other night was a former Company operative of ours named Robbins. He was one of Jason Masur's buddies, way back when." Control smiled thinly. "The night that Reva Cheney went in on her first assignment for us, Masur made sure Robbins got in on the security detail. Robbins failed miserably that night to keep an eye on Cheney, the results I'm quite sure you've seen for yourself by now."  
  
"Who let an untried girl in on the assignment in the first place?" Robert demanded.  
  
"A subordinate of ours, transferred to San Francisco, after the mess he left behind. He knew better than to let a trainee in on something this important. Damn near ruined six years of work trying to collar that Iraqi terrorist responsible for blowing up the agency headquarters in Jordan."  
  
"And who was it that agreed to train this girl?" Robert angrily asked. Control's eyes narrowed, looking a dark stormy blue.  
  
"Apparently you haven't heard what I am trying to tell you, Robert," he growled back. "Reva Cheney is wanted in Bath on a homicide investigation! Kostmayer's little exploit last night in breaking her out of there puts him squarely on an aiding and abetting felony, and I don't need to remind you he has that time in Leavenworth still hanging over his head."  
  
"Kostmayer was cleared on that. Any records should have been destroyed," Robert flared, "By you!"  
  
"Get him in this office in six hours and they will be." Control retorted. Robert's jaw set, his nostrils flaring.  
  
"I will not bargain with you! I cleared Kostmayer myself. I still find it very difficult to believe that girl capable of murder!" he shouted. Control, his entire face cold, reached out and flipped the folder open. Extracting the top photo he handed it to Robert.  
  
"Cheney knew Robbins. She knew he was supposed to be covering her section."  
  
"That still doesn't implicate her in a murder." Robert snapped, ignoring the picture.  
  
"I'm quite sure some smart prosecutor will take one good look at her, claim bitterness and revenge and twist things around to make a jury believe she shot him on purpose."  
  
"Funny you should mention 'twist things around'," Robert growled sarcastically.  
  
"Dammit, Robert! Kostmayer's in hot water up to his ears on this! Cheney must be returned to Bath, and Kostmayer needs his carcass in this compound by 3:00am! He'd automatically go to you for help."  
  
"This has got nothing to do with Kostmayer!" Robert snapped, smiling thinly. "I want to know just exactly who was responsible for Reva Cheney to begin with and why she would be watched and followed now!" Robert extracted his hands from his coat, slapped them squarely on Control's desk and glowered down at the man. Control glared back.  
  
"I've seen that girl's condition. There's no way that she could have actively set out to kill anyone. She just had surgery on her throat, and shouldn't have been driving home by herself in the first place. Not to mention the damage done afterwards by your Mr. Robbins. I don't know what you're playing at, Control, but trying to lie to me about it being a murder investigation is not... going... to... work!" Robert's voice cut the air like a knife.  
  
"All right, Robert, try this one... Both you and Kostmayer are messing with a code Yellow designation that has certain... attachments. Namely if anyone from this office, retired or otherwise, gets anywhere near her, they're history."  
  
"Code Yellow?" Robert exclaimed in disbelief, angrily beginning to pace the room. "I find that bloody hard to believe also!"  
  
"Oh you can believe that." Control replied in a low deadly tone. "There's enough information locked into that girl's head to fill a Mainframe or two." His eyes followed Robert. Robert snorted disbelief.  
  
"You're avoiding the subject. I want to know who was Reva Cheney's handler!" Robert snapped out. Control's eyes narrowed as he watched the other man. He dove down another path.  
  
  
  
"I was," he said simply.  
  
  
  
Robert rounded on him so fast that the breeze from his coat swept the file onto the floor. Anger, indignation, and moral fury blazed from his hazel eyes.  
  
"What?" he hissed, freezing to the spot. Control raised an eyebrow, a slight crook in his lips, face set like granite.  
  
"You wanted the truth, there you have it. I was her handler," he said simply.  
  
"Are you out of your mind?" Robert shouted at him. Control snorted softly, the smile on his lips growing.  
  
"Sometimes..."  
  
"You've done some reprehensible acts in your life, Control, but this goes beyond any of them all." Robert jabbed a finger out the door and pointed for emphasis. "That girl has no business being a part of this God forsaken organization! What on earth were you thinking, bringing her into this sordid mess?"  
  
"Ever seen what that girl can do?" Control asked quietly. He sat back in his chair, turning to an oak-paneled cabinet to his left, against the wall. He opened it, snaked out a file and closed the drawer while Robert wound up for another tirade.  
  
"I don't give a damn what that girl can do! I want to know what kind of insanity affected your already twisted thinking to even think about bringing a girl like that into this organization!"  
  
"You'll give a damn in a minute, old son." Control replied calmly and with promise, setting several pieces of paper out on the desk. He looked up at Robert, his eyes nearly lost below his prominent brow. "And as for Cheney? What the hell do you think I did when that little fool went and got her throat ripped out?! I actually took a piece of your advice, Robert," he replied sardonically. "I got that girl out of this agency as fast as I possibly could. She's been set up in a safe location, paid handsomely for her injuries, and is best off damn well left alone. Which is why I want Kostmayer here!" he snapped back, some anger drifting into his voice.  
  
"Oh how very noble you are," Robert shot back ignoring what Control was setting on the desk. "I hope that helps you to sleep better at night."  
  
"Remember when you wrote me that letter?"  
  
"What?" Robert snapped at him, sensing another effort to get him off track. Control steepled his fingers together, resting his elbows on the desk, pointing the two index fingers at him.  
  
"Your resignation letter," Control replied, nodding at the papers. Robert glared at him and stopped his pacing.  
  
"What about my resignation letter? You already told me it was of absolutely no use, no one is allowed to retire from the Company, I retired myself!" A cold foreboding suddenly knotted Robert's stomach.  
  
"True, but have you ever read your reinstatement?" Control asked innocently, his face utterly blank.  
  
The look of anger, surprise, and horror, which crossed Robert's features, showed Control he got what he wanted. He casually reached down and picked up a paper, a simple letter, nearly the length of the entire page and handed it to Robert. He took it and, involuntarily, began to read. He paled before Control's eyes, but his anger burned on.  
  
"I never wrote this." he whispered tersely.  
  
"That's your signature, Robert," Control replied casually. Robert scrutinized the page.  
  
"I NEVER WROTE THIS!" he shouted, his voice thundering down the corridors.  
  
"No, you didn't," Control affirmed. "Flip it over."  
  
Robert whipped the sheet over, it snapped as he did. On the back was a girl's handwriting, stating 'not written by R. McCall.' and it was signed by Reva Cheney.  
  
  
  
A torrent of emotions flooded McCall as he stood staring at the note, he flipped the paper back over, reading his 'request to be reinstated'.  
  
"Given a bit of time to learn a particular person's syntax, with a photographic memory, coupled with her talents as an artist, Reva could write anyone's letters in their own handwriting and style." Control said quietly. "Take a look, Robert." He slipped out another page.  
  
"This is the opening to the Constitution... if it weren't for the modern ink and paper, she could pass this off as real." Robert, dismayed and disgusted, retained 'his' letter and glanced down at the sheet. Control slid another into view. A drawing this time, on a small sheet of paper, of a man of obvious Arabian descent, done in frightening life-likeness.  
  
"Mohammed bin Ismail, no known photo's exist of him, but this drawing collared him here in New York and helped us nail him to the wall for the murders of our agents in Jordan," Control pulled a few drawings of celebrities with their signatures. "This is what we collected around the office, in Reva's time here as a clerk, which I'm sure you noticed wasn't in her work history. I know you've consulted with Jonah," Control smirked. "If she wanted to, Reva could have sold these as authentic and reaped a mint." He pulled out a few more letters. "The girl even managed to get my style of writing down, too." He arranged the few letters on top of the other stuff.  
  
Robert sat down.  
  
"She knows the entire layout of this office building." Control replied. "Not to mention this office." Robert began picking up various letters, carefully studying them and growing colder by the minute. Control's voice, low and hypnotic, kept on going.  
  
"She faked the signatures to get past Jason into a staff driver's job. That's how I found her. Once she demonstrated this talent, I sat her down and talked with her a good long while. She volunteered to let me "train" her, I spent a year doing it. She certainly demonstrated a surprising talent in firearms, until I learned that Thornton Cheney had a hand in her upbringing." Control watched as Robert, thin lipped, disapproving, and silent, kept on digging through the papers, his eyes sometimes widening in surprise.  
  
"She absorbs information like a sponge. I worked with her a good long while Robert, she makes an extraordinary forger. A true lightning artist. She's good, Robert, too good. I ought to know, I trained her," He steepled his hands together again, tapping the index fingers absently against his chin, his thoughts momentarily drifting. "She has a certain unexpectedness about her that I haven't had time to work out of her. She'd do things that would drive me insane, showing off just what she could do with that handwriting skill. It's not so funny when it's your own writing and you're not doing it." He raised a knowing eyebrow at Robert, meeting his eyes a moment, daring to hope the spell he was weaving was working. "For the most part she's harmless, but if Reva Cheney ever fell into the wrong hands, one little shot of truth serum, a bit of coercion..." Control let it hang.  
  
"She'd be the means of getting a lot of people killed, a total disruption of this continent, and quite possibly a war or two, hence a Yellow code. She cannot be allowed to be approached by anyone even remotely connected to a spy organization. So I retired her, under watch of course, both here and in Wiscasett. She's well taken care of, so long as no one goes anywhere near her. Least of all, Company agents. Mickey needs to get back into this compound and away from her before the designations on all three of you changes to Red. I can't stop it once it does." He carefully maintained his meaningful gaze on Robert.  
  
"And now we have a stolen Positioning disc, and the knowledge that someone else is also watching her. That puts Kostmayer in a very bad situation, Robert. He has his hide in it up past his neck! His taking her from the hospital is not one of his more brilliant maneuvers! If we are to get him out of this mess and get him exonerated, he needs to get away from Reva Cheney as fast as possible. And so do you, old son, so do you."  
  
Robert reached the last few papers at the bottom. They were drawings of Control himself, signed with his familiar 'non-signature', that Robert knew only too well.  
  
"I suspect Masur is behind the disc theft. Washington okay'd his return from Beirut in October, over my objections. They agreed, however, never to let him back in New York City. We've kept a tight watch on him and so far he's behaving himself." He tilted his head slightly to one side and scrutinized the man he had long called his only friend. "I don't really need to tell you what could happen if her talent ever fell into his hands, do I?"  
  
Robert's eyes met his at last, filled with conflict and rage. Silently he extracted his resignation letter and joined it with the other he still held. Folding them in half, he slipped them into his inside breast pocket.  
  
"If you have any more of these letters anywhere in this office..." he said very softly, but colder than ice, his intent clear as crystal. "So help me, you'll wish you were never born."  
  
"There are no more," Control replied softly.  
  
"You've sunk to depths I cannot fathom in this, Control," Robert cuttingly sliced. "That girl's life is ruined because of you. You alone are responsible!"  
  
"You think I don't know that?" Control responded tersely, showing his first glint of emotion. "Getting her away from me was the only recourse I had! The faster the better!" he added, gathering the paperwork up in front of him, finally breaking eye contact. "The opportunity at training another person with a photographic memory was a temptation I have regretted since the day she appeared in that car!"  
  
"With your knowledge and capabilities. You've practically signed the girl's death warrant." Robert snapped angrily.  
  
"Need you constantly remind me of that fact? I know what my actions have done! There isn't a day that goes by that it doesn't cross my mind! Getting Reeve away from me was the best recourse I had! Kostmayer's showing up on the scene last summer certainly hasn't helped the situation at all! Then his stunt last night? That girl needs to get back to Wiscasett and left there, before Jason or any other enterprising agent gets wind of what she can do!"  
  
"Seems to me that Masur's already figured that out if he was able to slip Robbins into the security detail!" Robert barked. "Robbins reappearance the other night confirms it!" Robert abruptly stood up, again placing his hands on the desk, his eyes piercing the other man's.  
  
"What I still don't understand is why you let her participate in this wretched business to begin with!"  
  
"Ismail was one of our prime leads in the Jordanian bombing. His arrival in the States was an opportunity I couldn't let slip by me. I had less then 48 hours to somehow get into that estate and get something about him. Reva was the logical recourse."  
  
"Logic!" Robert nearly shouted. "That's the worst use of that term I've heard in decades."  
  
"Sometimes logic needs to bend when it's the lives of seven other agents we're talking about," Control snapped back.  
  
"At the expense of another?" Robert snapped, his entire face radiated disgust and anger.  
  
"I want your dogs called off my home and Kostmayer's. I also want that mess in Bath straightened out. No more homicide investigation. And I want everything and anything on Masur's activities since he came home. And..." he raised a warning finger at Control. "I want Kostmayer cleared of anything connected to Leavenworth or Bath."  
  
"Only if Kostmayer agrees to come back to this compound and you take Cheney back to Wiscasett."  
  
"Kostmayer I will not agree on." Robert argued. "Cheney will be returned to Wiscasett, but I will not bargain with you on Kostmayer." He locked eyes with Control. For a moment neither man relented, then Control sat back in his chair, a look of disgust crossing his own features.  
  
"Agreed," he stated simply. "So long as Kostmayer stays one hundred percent away from her."  
  
Robert smiled sourly at him, turned on his heel and left the room.  
  
  
  
When his footsteps no longer echoed in the corridor, Control leaned forward across the desk, grabbing the decanter in one hand and a glass in the other. As he poured, his hand shook. Scowling, more at himself than the situation, he knocked the liquid back in one long, burning, swallow, then in a flash of pent up rage, hurled the glass against the opposite wall.  
  
  
  
A few things registered on the angry Robert as he drove away from the agency compound. Control still hid something. In his rage he hadn't discovered why the girl's medical files had vanished. He knew Control was trying to manipulate him into finding out if Masur really was behind the disc theft and subsequent results, and he was downright relentless in trying to get Reva Cheney away from him and Mickey. Why? The two letters in his breast pocket explained enough of that. Then another thought crossed his mind. Why did he say he was still trying to work 'things' out of her and why had Control called the girl, Reeve? Robert clenched his teeth and tried to focus the disgust and rage he felt at the actions of his friend into a course of action. Why had the man even considered risking the girl's life to train her to begin with? The photographic memory excuse fell way too short. Something else motivated him, besides the girl's obvious talent. He set off for Jonah's. One way or another he was going to find out.  
  
End of part 3  
  
  
  
Part 4  
  
The sound of a man coming down the corridor jerked her abruptly awake. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was 12:30am. Barely, she heard Mickey's low voice in the living room and realized McCall had returned, putting something in the other spare room. Reva listened as he rummaged in the closet a moment, then came out and joined Mickey in the other room.  
  
She had claimed a pounding headache and fatigue, in order to go and lay down again after the extraordinary conversation she'd had with Mickey several hours earlier. It wasn't really a lie, either. Too much stuff banged around inside her skull, especially concerning what he had asked her to do and she had needed some sort of respite. Mickey seemed to understand and had sat himself on the floor, leaning against the couch to built card castles from a pair of decks he had scrounged up from somewhere in the house. Not long afterwards someone had telephoned, but by then, fatigue had caught up with her and she drifted off to sleep. Until McCall had come back.  
  
Sometimes, one just knew when a situation wasn't very good. Despite the blow to her head, Reva instantly awoke when the older agent returned, and she knew something was wrong. Quietly, she slipped out of the bed, cautiously making her way down the hall, staying out of sight, but close enough to listen. McCall seemed to be holding in check a great deal of anger.  
  
"Well?" Mickey asked  
  
"Well, indeed." The older man retorted. She heard him drop something on the table and pick something else up. She knew he had the drawings.  
  
"Did she do these?" he asked Mickey sharply.  
  
"Earlier," Mickey replied.  
  
"Control was her handler." Robert stated, sounding disgusted.  
  
"That's what she said."  
  
"And what else, besides?" She heard Robert shuffle the drawings.  
  
"Masur's got a grudge." Mickey distinctly sounded pleased.  
  
"Masur's back in the States."  
  
"What? I thought he was banned to Beirut?" Mickey sounded surprised.  
  
"Got a hold of a Senator's ear, he supposedly is in D.C., but I've a hunch he's not obeying orders. Control said he returned in October; that was about the same time that the disc disappeared from the Company store. And if I'm not mistaken, that was about the time your Miss Cheney started noticing other watchers. Masur's the only other person who knows about her agency training. And with what I learned from Control tonight," (She heard the sound of a paper being snapped.) "She knows far more than she ought."  
  
Reva felt that sinking feeling of dread at the mention of Jason Masur's return to the States. He knew what she could do, and he was not welcome in Company circles for the acts of his extraordinary ego. He had run contrary to everything Control had established and it had earned him banishment in one of the world's hot spots. If he was back in the United States, there was no telling what he'd do to get at Control's position in the Company. Ruthlessness, deceit, and who knows what else, being no object. There was no love lost between Masur and Control. The same applied to herself also, especially with what she knew of the man. Reva swallowed uncomfortably, how on earth was she going to keep away from that maniac?  
  
She backed up silently, straining to listen, pausing at the junction between the two guestrooms.  
  
"Jimmy called from Bath," Mickey stated.  
  
"Yes," Robert sounded disgusted. "Control had the report with him. Said the corpse was an ex agent named Robbins, he tried to convince me that the investigation is a possible homicide, with an aiding and abetting charge leveled at you. Seems Miss Cheney knew him."  
  
"What?" Mickey sounded incredulous. "There's no way she could've known that. She told me herself that she didn't see the guy."  
  
"All the same, it is suspicious and lends itself to being used. Control warns that he won't hide your Leavenworth history either."  
  
"You cleared me on that!" Mickey snapped.  
  
"I did, but he threw it up in my face all the same, which tells me that your files are still available to him somehow."  
  
"I don't believe this!" Mickey exclaimed.  
  
"For some reason, Control wants you away from Miss Cheney. Did she tell you about a Code Yellow?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Control wants you at his office by 3:00am."  
  
"Control can go to hell." Mickey retorted  
  
"I figured you'd say that. He's hiding something. I've told Jonah to hang all the red flag warnings, I just want him to get whatever information out of the Company computers he can get on her. What I don't understand is why he even involved himself with this girl in the first place." She heard Robert begin to pace.  
  
"What I want to now is why he abandoned her afterwards." Mickey growled.  
  
"There is that..."  
  
"If he thinks he's gonna get me to heel, he picked the wrong dog to kick." Mickey sounded a little too calm. There was a pause.  
  
"Mickey..." Robert warned.  
  
"You haven't heard what she's told me, McCall," Mickey said. "He's a snake. Lies, deceptions, manipulations are nothing to him, but what he's done with her..."  
  
"I'm aware, Kostmayer," Robert replied sternly. "It's inexcusable, but he is, technically, your boss. He was adamant about you returning to the compound and me returning Miss Cheney to Wiscasett."  
  
"I can always quit," Mickey replied coolly.  
  
"And put yourself under a Red classification? The girl has literally become a pariah, because of him. Take a look at this..." Reva felt as though a sinkhole was opening up underneath her. She heard paper being rustled, then Mickey barked out a laugh.  
  
"Congratulations," he joked.  
  
"I'm not laughing, Kostmayer." McCall replied caustically. "If Miss Cheney hadn't signed the back of this letter, there's no telling what Control would have done with it. How she's able to duplicate my handwriting is beyond me. What I want to know is what else has he had her do? I also intend to put an immediate stop to it."  
  
Reva stopped breathing. A shot of adrenaline jolted her system. He had that letter! She hastily backed up into the room, staring around in confusion. She spied an overnight bag on the bed, then glanced into the closet. Without hesitating, she stepped up to the lone overcoat hanging inside and searched the pockets. Her fingers found a still warm set of car keys. What little she knew of Robert McCall had come directly from Control himself, he had told her he was one of the most dangerous men in the world, and now he knew that she could forge not only his name, but his own letters, in his own handwriting. Near terror spurred her on, if Robert McCall was on her tail... she took the keys and put them into her pocket.  
  
"She said he showed her some pretty wild stuff, but I got to admit, that's pretty damn outrageous," Mickey replied, mirth in his voice.  
  
"That is not my letter!" Robert snapped, angrily.  
  
"Could've fooled me."  
  
"That's exactly the point, Kostmayer, it can fool anyone. Whatever that girl knows, if she fell into the wrong hands, there is no telling how many people's lives could be destroyed, including mine."  
  
"So what are you gonna do with it?"  
  
"Burn it. Then find out if there are any more. Control undoubtedly has something else."  
  
"What about Masur?" Mickey asked.  
  
"I thought I'd give you the pleasure of looking him up." McCall sounded sinister. Reva didn't hear his response as she quietly slipped back into the master bedroom.  
  
"And Reva?"  
  
"I'm going to have a very serious discussion with that girl, then take her back to Wiscasett. She'll be safer there. Once Jonah can get the information together about her, we'll figure something out to get her out of this mess that Control has put her in."  
  
"We?" Mickey asked.  
  
"Yes, we! I've been dragged into this thing far enough, now. With my life at stake I'm going to see to it that she never writes one of these letters again!"  
  
  
  
Silently Reva eased the bedroom door shut, their conversation still going on. She went to the bed, pulling one of the blankets off and bunching it up at the bottom of the door, to muffle noise. Finding her coat and the spare clothes, she made her way to the window. With great care, checking every few seconds, she eased it open, and then moved the nightstand over for a step. She was out of the house in a heartbeat.  
  
The temperature hovered near freezing, but the combination of fear and adrenaline kept the girl warm as she made her way around the house to the black car that sat in the driveway. Fishing out the keys, she opened it up, but before climbing in, she rifled under the drivers seat. Her fingers found cool metal and she brought out the Walther semi automatic McCall kept under there. Without another moment's hesitation, she slipped into the driver's seat, shot it forward as she inserted the keys into the ignition and fired it up.  
  
  
  
McCall's hearing knew the sounds of the Jaguar almost supernaturally. At the initial keying over, his head snapped around, abruptly cutting short his conversation with Mickey, who had heard it, too. Both men moved at once, Robert running for the front door, Mickey for the bedroom.  
  
His shoulder hit the door, caught hold against the blanket, jarring him, before the pressure moved the blanket. The door slammed against the wall and he instantly spotted the open window. He cursed once and ran to join Robert.  
  
He met him in the middle of the road in time to see the taillights of the Jaguar disappear around the corner. McCall looked at him, ice-cold calm.  
  
"Kostmayer..." he spat. "That is my car." He pointed down the road as his eyes bored into Mickey's. "She just stole my car," he added a little too calmly. Kostmayer stood frozen.  
  
"She just stole MY CAR!" he roared. Mickey scowled, spun on his heel and raced back into the house.  
  
"Where the hell are you going?" he demanded, following him.  
  
"I have a 3:00am appointment, remember?" Mickey replied as he snatched up his faded old army jacket. He checked to make sure the other weapon was in the front pocket.  
  
"What's that got to do with my car!"  
  
"If anyone knows where she would run, it'll be him!" Mickey snapped back. "She's scared, McCall! She obviously heard what we said! She can't go home, it's watched and she won't go to him, where else will she go? He'll know." He shrugged into the jacket looking at the angry Robert.  
  
"You just gonna stay here or come with me? We got to get a ride." Robert snorted disgust, retrieved his coat and joined him.  
  
"So help me Kostmayer, if one scratch..." he started.  
  
"She'll buy you a new one," Mickey snapped back in disgust.  
  
"If she's alive long enough to do it!"  
  
  
  
She could only think of one place to go. With in an hour she was on I 95 headed south.  
  
  
  
It wasn't often that Control got caught with his guard down. The man seemed to have an extraordinarily long "good luck" streak upon which he had capitalized most of his life. Yet there were times when it abandoned him. In the aftermath of his discussion with Robert, he had spent several hours exercising his authority in trying to clean up the mess that swirled around himself and Reva Cheney. He knew Jonah was in the Company mainframe and had barely gotten Reva's medical history downloaded then wiped out of the hard drive. That history now resided snugly in his office safe.  
  
Anticipating that Mickey would not show up at the set time, he decided to leave, knowing at that time there was nothing more he could do at the office complex. He intended to head for Washington, to continue finding what he could on Jason Masur, independent of what he had asked Robert to do. Donning his overcoat, he stuffed the bow tie he had been wearing into his pocket and headed for the underground parking garage, where he had asked his driver to meet him.  
  
Thoughts of the girl that he had taken a personal interest in training had left him irritable and just a hair distracted. That distraction was enough.  
  
Climbing into a waiting, silver Lexus he didn't bother checking the driver. He had no sooner sat down when the locks on the doors engaged with a suspiciously familiar click. A slightly startled glance up and a grab for the handle revealed that the doors were locked from the inside.  
  
Mickey Kostmayer turned in the driver's seat to look back at him.  
  
"Kostmayer..." Control started then stopped. He did not like the glint in Mickey's dark eyes.  
  
"You wanted to see me?" he said in a very low tone of voice. His face was totally blank.  
  
"Is this your idea of a joke?" The agency head asked, forcing himself to sit back in his seat and relax.  
  
"You tell me."  
  
"Tell you what?" Control asked, his own features setting like concrete.  
  
"Oh, little things, like," Mickey shrugged. "Why you're screwing around with my files."  
  
"Your files? What are you talking about?"  
  
"Don't lie to me, Control."  
  
"What makes you think I'm lying?" The older man shot back. Mickey smirked at him.  
  
"It's what you do for a living," he replied. Control's head tipped slightly as he scrutinized Kostmayer. This was something that needed fast thinking.  
  
"What are you doing here, Mickey? Kidnapping your boss?"  
  
"Boss?" Kostmayer responded, raising an eyebrow. Control just stared impassively back at him. Mickey snorted softly in derision.  
  
"Some boss you've turned out to be," he said and raised up the bulletproof partition between the front and back seats of the car.  
  
"What are you intending on doing Kostmayer?"  
  
"Take you for a little ride." Mickey responded and drove off.  
  
"Where's McCall? And Reva?" Control asked.  
  
"McCall we're picking up, Reva is..." Mickey waved a hand and shrugged as he gained the road and set off into the night.  
  
"Are you telling me you don't know where she is?" Control asked softly, his blue eyes stared unblinkingly at the back of Kostmayer's head. This wasn't looking good.  
  
"Vanished, in Robert's car." Mickey replied and glanced into the rearview mirror in time to see Control look momentarily away, scowl, and look back.  
  
"He's pissed about it, too," Mickey added.  
  
"Where did she go?" Control demanded, suddenly needing more time to think.  
  
"That's what we want to know."  
  
"We? If anything, it's something for McCall to know. He can find her faster, you, I want out of this thing."  
  
"Sorry, I'm involved."  
  
"I don't believe I heard that." Control said carefully, his voice full of intent. A feral smile played slightly on Mickey's lips.  
  
"You heard it and don't even think of trying to ship me out of the country this time."  
  
"What are you getting at?" Control demanded, trying to gain more time.  
  
"I happen to care about Reva, which is something you do not. I intend on finding her." Mickey said, glancing into the rearview again. Control barely hid the flash of anger.  
  
"Cheney is a Code Yellow agent, Kostmayer. A special designation at that. You get anywhere near her and the agency chiefs find out, you're a dead man."  
  
"I'll take that chance." Mickey responded calmly.  
  
"I'll not have one of my best agents involved with Reva Cheney," Control snapped.  
  
"Whatsa matter? Jealous?" Mickey shot back. Control snorted contempt.  
  
"Even if it was jealousy it'd be none of your damn business. For your safety as well as hers, you're best just to leave well enough alone."  
  
"Funny you should mention alone..." Mickey drawled negotiating through traffic.  
  
Control heaved a sigh and glared out the window. "You're starting to sound like Robert," he growled.  
  
"I think I'll take that as a compliment."  
  
"Just what is it you want?" Control asked.  
  
"Where would she go?" Mickey asked. Control shook his head, eyes wary, but watchful, Mickey was headed towards the harbor.  
  
"How am I supposed to know that? Haven't seen or talked to the girl in four years."  
  
"Convenient, huh?" Mickey drawled. "Spend a year training someone to do forgery, then shuffle 'em out the door and forget about 'em when they get messed up. Something really stinks about that, Control. You do what you do with her and then dump her like yesterday's garbage, without even an explanation why. She trusted you, man. You didn't even stick around to help out."  
  
"You're treading a very thin tightrope, Kostmayer." Control's voice became glacial, the blue eyes dangerous. Mickey had struck a nerve.  
  
"Am I? Who's driving?" The car abruptly accelerated, wending it's way amongst what little traffic was left at that hour of the morning. They worked their way deeper in amongst the piers and warehouses. Control gripped the armrest, bracing himself.  
  
"I know I can get out my window," Kostmayer said conversationally, urging the car to go faster. "Gonna be interesting to see how you get out." He suddenly spun the wheel, feathering the brakes. The Lexus skewed sideways, tires screaming like a banshee, pouring out smoke as he spun the steering wheel in a hard left turn. He stomped on the accelerator as the car hit the start of a very long and empty pier.  
  
"Kostmayer..." Control warned icily. "You are going to regret this."  
  
"You're a funny one to talk." Mickey replied lightly, the speedometer rising as the Lexus picked up speed. "C'mon boss, where would she go?" he asked again. "She can't go home and she won't come to you, where else?"  
  
"You think I'm going to answer that?"  
  
"I can hold my breath a little over two minutes last time I went through scuba training." Mickey said jovially, like a kid trying to show off an accomplishment. The car flew down the pier. Control's fingers were making dents in the backseat and door handgrip. "I can wait that long," he added. The pier's end rapidly approached. Control scowled. He knew Kostmayer was nuts.  
  
"Kill me, and you'll never find her in time." he replied calmly  
  
The Lexus suddenly swerved right, and slid nearly uncontrolled across the ancient creosote soaked decking. A sickening shudder racked the vehicle as it slid towards the edge. Control hurled himself across the passenger seat, bracing for impact as he expected the car to go sailing into the air. Skidding haphazardly, the vehicle turned around then lurched as one back tire slipped off the edge, grinding the axle into the wood. The jarring of its sudden stop crashed down on them as silence reclaimed the night. Control, lying on his back, didn't even breathe as he realized the car had come to a rest on the pier. It did however lean precariously to one very uncomfortable side. Kostmayer slowly lowered the window between them, laid his arm across the seat, and looked back at him with a disgusted smirk. Control struggled to maintain the passivity in his features but failed miserably in keeping the anger out of his eyes. At that moment there was a rapping on the window above his head. Jerking his head around Control stared up at a highly amused Robert McCall.  
  
The door latches unlocked.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Control burst as he scrambled out of the safer side of the car. Mickey followed suit, only on the unsafe side of the car and looked appreciatively at what he managed to accomplish. He stood on the very edge of the pier gazing down some twenty odd feet into the dark oily looking waters. A few inches more and the Lexus would have been reef material. He smiled at Robert.  
  
"Nice night for a drive," he cracked.  
  
"You cut it a little close there, Mickey," Robert chided, good-naturedly. "At least I brought another car for us to drive, I'm afraid this one is out of commission."  
  
"Would you mind telling me what you two are doing?" Control asked, trying to rein in the pounding of his heart as he straightened out his coat.  
  
"Mickey would you mind getting that car for me? It's up on the road. A Mercedes. I'd like to talk with our mutual friend. Did you find out anything?"  
  
"From him?" Mickey snorted in disgust, easing his way around the car. Robert tossed him the keys.  
  
"I didn't think you would." Robert said, looking at Control. Mickey caught the keys, nodded at Control and walked off. Control straightened his two- three inches of extra height over McCall. Robert just tipped his head back and squared his shoulders.  
  
"Why the theatrics, Robert?" Control snapped.  
  
"You messed with his girl."  
  
"His girl? You've got to be joking, I won't allow it."  
  
"Oh I assure you I am not joking..." Robert replied with icy calm. "I also am not joking when I tell you your little protege' stole my car tonight." Robert fished out a manila folder he had been holding inside his overcoat. He slapped it into the others chest who involuntarily reached up to grab it.  
  
"I want the truth Control, Reva Cheney isn't even Reva Cheney! Who the hell is she?" he shouted.  
  
Control just stared grimly at Robert, holding the file to his chest, not moving, barely even daring to breath. How much did he know?  
  
"Douglas and Cindy Cheney don't even exist. Jonah found the blind in your Company files." Robert snapped. "I want to know who that girl is and what your connection is to her."  
  
McCall could barely see Control's jaw clenching. "And why are her medical files missing?"  
  
"All right, Robert, all right!" he said quickly. "I have her medical files in my safe, where they are staying. As for Douglas and Cindy Cheney... yes, they are a blind. A very carefully prepared blind, which I intend to keep in place for however long I have to," he snapped irritably.  
  
"Who is that girl?" Robert nearly shouted.  
  
"That girl is Reva Cheney," Control growled. "And so help me if anyone tells her that she isn't, I'll kill them." His intent was all too clear.  
  
Robert snorted derision at the man.  
  
"I want to know what that girl's connection is to you and why you've created a fake family for her. And why you've taken it upon yourself to up and abandon her on top of it all!" Robert roared. Control only looked at him impassively.  
  
"Photographic memories run in the family, Robert," he murmured, glaring hard at the other man. Robert's stared at him, his eyes growing wide. The implications were suddenly becoming obvious.  
  
"This information doesn't go past you, do you understand?" Control growled.  
  
"I'm not your lackey to order around!" Robert snapped.  
  
"I will not allow this information to reach her, do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Oh, you make yourself perfectly clear!" Robert shouted. "What I want to know is why you dumped her?"  
  
"I had to!" Control shouted back and uncharacteristically lost his temper. "I am pure poison to that girl. I can't allow anyone else associated with me near her either. I had to get her out of the Company. It was a hideous mistake..." he stopped and glared at Robert.  
  
"Dammit Robert, I can't let her get near me."  
  
"Then why did you allow it in the first place." Robert growled back. Control started to answer then stopped. Suddenly he looked away from Robert's accusing eyes, for a second his head dipped, looking anywhere but at Robert, then he looked back.  
  
"I needed to know..." he said simply. "I needed to know. It was the stupidest thing I ever did in my life and it nearly cost me hers." He thumped himself once in the chest. "I have to live with the knowledge that it was my fault for getting her into that mess and I have to live with the knowledge that I can no longer have anything to do with her. I'll not say another word on it, Robert. You know too much already. What I want to know is why she ran and how the hell are we going to get her back?"  
  
Robert glared hard at this strange, ruthless individual he had long called a friend, in spite of all the deceptions and lies he had endured from him. Even he knew when he was hitting too close to the man's core. Control didn't reveal a lot about himself to anyone; it simply wasn't healthy. He knew far too much and he didn't even know Control's real name. This, however, carried other implications he didn't dare ask about just then.  
  
"She ran because she's scared, and how we..." he laced that last word with heavy sarcasm. "Are going to get her back, I don't know yet. But, I will tell you this." He locked gazes with the man. "I want a full accounting of this from you when we are done. Everything. The truth. All of it! And if my car comes back with so much as a single scratch..."  
  
"Deal! She's gone to Arlington. I've a shuttle flight for Washington leaving in an hour, I can easily book another seat." Control agreed.  
  
"Another two seats..." Robert sharply added.  
  
"Absolutely not. I won't have Kostmayer around her." Control shouted.  
  
"You just try and stop him... I'd suggest you cave in; allow him to come, he's dead set on protecting her, among other things, and you know he's the best at what he does, plus." Robert held up a finger. "He dearly wants Masur's hide. Masur is in deep with the Senator from Arkansas who doesn't seem to like you very much. Reva would be his ticket into upsetting the entire structure of the Agency if they coerce her into utilizing that talent you used in her. How could you do it, man?" Robert demanded. "How could you involve her?"  
  
"Like I said before, Robert..." Control replied sounding a bit wearied. "Photographic memories run in the family... she was so willing to allow me to train her," he looked reflective a moment, a memory slipping past his inscrutable blue eyes. "I actually thought I could get away with it. The talent there is extraordinary... she just proved to be a little unpredictable. And I proved to be an enormous fool!"  
  
"Calling your self a fool is the least of your worries if Masur is able to get at anything from her..."  
  
"You don't have to remind me," Control barked.  
  
"Oh, has to remind you," Robert groused back. "Unfortunately, it's fallen upon me!"  
  
  
  
Morning on the Virginia side of the Potomac was near freezing and foggy, threatening snow. A crust of an inch or less lay in patches all over the gigantic historic gravesite of America's presidents and war dead. At eight o'clock sharp, a gate attendant just opening up for the day, huddled against the cold, noticed a lone, expensive black Jaguar approaching her post. She wasn't in the mood to have to tell people this early that no private cars were allowed in the hallowed grounds unless it was by special permission and a relative of one who was buried there. The car came to a stop at her booth, the window slipping silently down as the exhaust curled away in wraith-like streams behind the gently purring automobile.  
  
"Ma'am, I'm afraid cars aren't allowed on the site unless... " The girl started to say. Reva, in the car, looked at her with grey eyes that threatened to tear her soul out. Wordlessly, she slipped out of a fairly unused section of her wallet a folded letter and passed it to her. Puzzled, the girl took it. Reading it surprised her. Not only did she have signed permission, she had visitation rights after scheduled hours. She stared back at the girl in the car, who looked utterly exhausted and then noticed the stitches on her forehead.  
  
"Uh..." she stammered as the girl held her hand back out. "May I ask who the relation is?" She fumbled blindly for the automobile pass. Handing the permission waiver back, Reva slipped a card into her hand. The gatekeeper looked at it. Admiral Thornton Cheney, USN, it read with the plot listing. Underneath that was the single word, grandfather. The girl held her hand back out waiting for both the card and the pass. The gatekeeper hastily wrote on the pass and handed it to her.  
  
"Do you need a map to locate the site?" she asked. Reva gazed at her with barely a smile on her face, looking tired and aged. She tapped her forehead indicating she had the map in her head, then shook her head no. She nodded at the bar preventing her from driving through.  
  
"Thanks for coming to Arlington..." She again started to say but the window was rolling back up. She stared as she lifted the bar, watching the Jaguar slowly make its way into the site and disappearing into the fog. She shook herself, the girl in the car looked like something the cat dragged in and hadn't said a single thing to her. She heaved a sigh. It was starting out to be one of those mornings...  
  
Reva's entrance into the site did not go unnoticed.  
  
She spent 15 minutes driving carefully past the hundreds of sites and monuments to this historic and revered place before finding a small copse of trees and slowly pulling the Jaguar over to the curb. She slipped the pass onto the dash, patted her coat pocket to make sure the Walther still resided there, then gently turned the engine off, pocketed the keys, and sat, staring out over the sea of crosses and tombstones. Click, click, click her mind ran through the pictures, she followed the line of markers nearest the trees. Click. She narrowed her searching eyes to the line farthest away. Click. Third site on the left. She popped open the door, slipped her hand to the latch and locked it, carefully shutting the door. She looked a moment at the car. She'd have to make some sort of contact with Control, soon. She knew it was inevitable. She needed to get McCall's car back to him. She frowned, flipped her long, dark blonde curls over one shoulder and shuddered, looking around the enormous cemetery. She hunched into the coat, turned, instantly located the grave, and set off towards it.  
  
  
  
"Well would you look at this?" A groundskeeper remarked to his partner. The second man, who sat inside a maintenance truck, glanced to where the first man was looking.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Masur said there was a remote possibility that Cheney gal who shot Robbins the other night might show up at the old man's gravesite."  
  
"Where?" The second man snapped, all alertness. He'd been Robbins' partner and it still stung his ego to have had the girl pull a gun on him in the first place, not to mention slabbing his partner permanently. He spotted her walking determinedly towards the copse of trees. Without hesitating, he reached under the dash and pulled out a mike to a CB unit.  
  
"T22 to base, Masur?" he asked. There was a burst of static, then nothing. He repeated his request. Presently a voice came back.  
  
"Base to T22, Masur's busy, what do you need? You shouldn't be calling here."  
  
"Tell him his girl just showed up." The 'caretaker' snapped sarcastically, never taking his eyes off her.  
  
Presently, a slightly sarcastic voice came back.  
  
"Well. what are you waiting for? Go get her! Didn't I tell you we'd hit pay dirt sooner or later? Patience, boys, patience. It'll reward those who wait. Bring her to me and don't go getting yourself killed this time, all right? And make sure you don't kill her either. I don't want a repeat of last time."  
  
"Gimme a break, Masur," the caretaker griped. "I'll bring your little chickie to ya."  
  
"You better damn well bring her to me this time. I've got no room for incompetence. Base out." The receiver went dead.  
  
"T22 out." The caretaker tossed the mike with contempt. "That guy is a real horse's ass," he growled.  
  
"Yeah, he is, but he pays well."  
  
"'Bout the only thing he does well!" The other muttered. "C'mon, there's a big bonus for delivering this one alive."  
  
  
  
It had been everything but a pleasant flight. Delayed twice by weather, the shuttle had finally gotten them into D.C. around 5:30 am. And the companionship was sadly lacking. Robert had managed somehow to keep Control and Mickey apart. Control sat next to him, staring moodily out the window, looking at nothing, a briefcase resting on his lap. One aisle over sat Mickey, apparently catnapping, but Robert knew his ears were fully tuned to any conversation they might have. He had steered their conversation strictly to the activities of Jason Masur, knowing that the subject of Reva needed only the slightest spark to set of an enormous explosion between the two men. As for himself... Robert steered for equal ground, his particular specialty. He mulled over their situation. Mickey, on the one hand, seemed to have fallen in love with a girl with more to her past activities than met the eye, one who was going to have to live with its consequences for a lifetime. A girl Mickey was bound and determined to not only protect but also defend and get to know even better.  
  
Control, though. was just as determined to make sure Mickey got nowhere near her, or anyone else for that matter. Whose involvement went back much farther than merely stumbling across a lightning artist who had forged her way into a job. The strange request, nearly 10 years ago, to attend the funeral of a man he hardly knew suddenly had become clear. Coupled with the fact that there never was a couple named Douglas and Cindy Cheney, made their current concern even more enigmatic. Robert sighed for the umpteenth time. Control certainly knew how to weave tangled webs. Robert pondered on what the man had admitted to him on the pier just hours before, and it left him feeling numb. It simply couldn't be another Yvette? Impossible, absolutely impossible, Robert surmised as he thought about his adult daughter whom he had known only a few short years, now.  
  
Robert turned his thoughts over to Reva, herself. Strangely, he was beginning to forgive the girl already, for taking his car. Running from fear was, after all, a common reaction. He reviewed over and over what he had been talking to Kostmayer about in the moments before she had bolted from them and realized that she had jumped to conclusions. The girl was already scared, injured and traumatized, plus the burden she had been carrying all these years. Robert's promise of stopping her from forging his letters ever again certainly had not helped. He scowled slightly, chiding himself. Somehow he had to get to her and explain that he was not going to hurt her. Then he began to wonder how he was going to help extract the girl from her rather precarious position.  
  
One thing he already knew. He cast a sympathetic eye at Mickey, lounging in his first class seat. He didn't stand a chance, not with Control as deeply involved as he was. He had known from the beginning when Kostmayer had showed up at his apartment just a few days earlier, that these kind of things in their profession did not last. Reva's situation was even worse. It wasn't even going to be allowed to start. Robert's mind tackled how he was going to help Reva Cheney.  
  
"I wish you'd stop that," A low growl issued in his left ear. Broken from his thoughts, Robert glanced at Control.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" he asked.  
  
Control had sat back in his seat, his head tipped against the window, eyes closed, face set. "Sighing. That's the fourteenth one since we took off."  
  
"Oh, well, pardon me, I wasn't aware you were keeping track." Robert quietly, sarcastically replied.  
  
"Keep it down, Robert. Radar over there is listening in."  
  
"And no wonder, he's in a hell of a situation, not to mention Miss Cheney." Robert hissed back.  
  
"I'm aware of both." Control murmured, expertly pitching his voice to Robert's ears only. "Any more thoughts on Masur?"  
  
"Other then how much larger has his ego grown? No, it's that Senator I'm wondering about."  
  
"I've sicced Stock on him. If he and Masur have any kind of collusion going on, Jacob will find out what it is, where it is, and how much of it there is. If Jason has managed to get to her before we do, Jacob will know where they'll take her if anyone will. If Masur or that Senator so much as sneeze, we'll know about it. All of Arkansas and the Eastern Seaboard is covered."  
  
"Well, that's a slight measure of reassurance," Robert growled. Control could pull all the stops out when he needed to, and apparently had in this case.  
  
"She must not fall into his hands..." Control said very quietly, letting a colder meaning drift into his words. He barely opened his deep-set blue eyes, staring unblinkingly at Robert. Robert only shook his head.  
  
"She won't be allowed into Arlington until 8:00," he stated.  
  
"I plan on heading to the complex to find out what Jacob has come up with. We can meet at the Memorial before heading into the Cemetery. You and Kostmayer can get settled first. However, under no circumstances is he to go off on his own, I want a tight leash on him." Control murmured. Robert smirked slightly, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"That is going to be difficult."  
  
"Just do it, Robert. "  
  
"Control, let me make one thing perfectly clear to you," Robert hissed back as his own eyes drilled holes into the other man's. "I am not a babysitter and when this debacle is done and over with, you are going to owe me." His own tone dripped intent. Control only nodded.  
  
"At least keep him out of my way," he growled. "And help me keep that girl alive," he added in a softer voice. Robert snorted slightly.  
  
"Now that, I can do."  
  
The pilot suddenly interrupted their conversation to announce their imminent landing.  
  
  
  
Eight in the morning found the three men inside Arlington, waiting on the opposite side of the trees from the grave of Admiral Cheney. The fog made visibility almost nil and the temperatures kept all three inside the car. Though it was near freezing outside, more than just the car heater kept things warm for them.  
  
"I don't give a rat's ass what either of you think," Mickey snapped. "Reva knows me and won't run."  
  
"Absolutely not." Control stated flatly again. "If any of us go, it'll be me."  
  
"If she's got McCall's gun on her, you can kiss your ass good-bye," Mickey shot back with a sarcastic laugh. "She's suffered enough at your hands. One look at you now and she'll be gone for good. But if she does try plugging you one..." he smirked, his eyes reflecting a certain macabre humor at the thought.  
  
"Kostmayer, I don't recall asking for an opinion on the matter." Control calmly shot back  
  
"Oh please!" Robert griped. "Enough, both of you." He dug his gloves out of his coat pocket. "Neither one of you is going out there. I will handle this."  
  
"You?" Mickey exclaimed. "You've already scared her half to death, plus she's taken your car. She'll just rabbit again when she sees you."  
  
"I'll risk it. She's been gone several hours now. Maybe she'll have had some time to calm down. Neither one of you is impartial enough to this mess. I, on the other hand, am. Both of you stay here, and please..." Robert popped open his door, as he had been driving. "Don't kill one another before we get back." Disgusted, he climbed out of the vehicle, swung the door shut and disappeared into the fog. Mickey heaved a sigh and nervously cracked his knuckles.  
  
Control barely managed not to roll his eyes. "I don't like this..." he murmured restlessly.  
  
"You don't," Mickey snapped, as he flexed his shoulders, "Nothing feels right. Especially your involvement."  
  
"Kostmayer, I would delight in nothing more right now than sending you back to the place he found you." Control murmured threateningly, nodding towards the place where McCall had last been seen.  
  
"You just go right ahead and try..." Mickey just as calmly replied.  
  
"Sniping at each other isn't going to help Reva one bit." Control cuttingly responded.  
  
"You aren't helping her one bit," Mickey snapped. "You haven't since the day she got attacked."  
  
"Son, you haven't the slightest idea of what you are talking about." Control responded coldly.  
  
"No idea what I'm talking about?" Mickey asked. "That girl is lonely, scared, and bitter, because of you. I've seen the fear in her eyes. I've seen the bitterness there, the bewilderment, the pain. I've dealt with her when her throat starts bleeding and she's nearly gagging to death on the scar tissue. And you're telling me I don't know what I'm talking about?"  
  
"Exactly. You weren't there when the attack happened, you didn't see what was going on and you weren't there dealing with the aftermath."  
  
"I've dealt with the aftermath of your involvement. That girl hates you. And with damned good reason."  
  
"And she's better off hating me..." Control responded coldly. "I'd rather have her hating me, not be around me, and alive, than dead. Robert is right. Neither of us is impartial. Sniping at each other isn't helping."  
  
Mickey sorely bit back a comment on sniping at Control. He just sighed his own disgust and squirmed nervously in the back seat. That intuitive itch of impending disaster refused to budge from between his shoulder blades.  
  
"Screw this," he muttered and popped open the door.  
  
"Kostmayer!" Control snapped, heaving every ounce of his authority into his voice.  
  
"I'm only circling around. Something's not right and I'm not going to get caught sitting around if when it happens." With that, he slammed the door and jogged off, adjacent to the direction that Robert had walked in.  
  
"Damn," Control snapped, sliding over into the driver's seat and firing up the engine. Then he too climbed out, deliberately leaving the door open and moved off in the opposite direction.  
  
  
  
Reva certainly was distracted enough that she didn't see Robert until he was within a few feet of her. The fog by then was so thick that he had approached to within thirty feet before she heard his footsteps as they crunched on the snow. The Walther appeared magically in her hands, held steady, as the imposing figure appeared out of the gloom. Robert had both hands held out before him as he stopped at the sight of his gun. She looked pale enough to pass off as a ghost in her own right, as she stood before Cheney's grave. Wisps and drifts of nearly frozen fog swirled eerily around both figures as Reva stared at him in a mixture of surprise and fear.  
  
"Whatever you do, dear..." Robert said gently. "That particular gun has a very delicate trigger, a little too sensitive, if you know what I mean." He pointed a finger to one side and looked at her hopefully. "Would you mind aiming it that way?"  
  
All he got in return was her eyes narrowing, the fear and shock vanishing as she started to back up, her hands shifting on the gun for a firmer grip.  
  
"Wait!" Robert called, still keeping his hands visible. "I'm not here to hurt you, Miss Cheney." he paused. "May I call you Reva?" he asked. She didn't reply, she just stared straight into his hazel eyes and very slowly put one foot behind the other.  
  
"Reva. I don't know what you heard me say last night but I assure you, I am not going to hurt you. Don't keep running away." He made no move forward, only hoping that she'd listen.  
  
"I know what kind of position you're in, Reva. I'm in it myself. I want nothing more to do with the Company and I wish to stay retired, but it is a permanent part of me and occasionally I get dragged back into it. However, in your case, I am more than willing to help you get out of it altogether. I can do that you know, I can help you." She finally stopped backing up and just stared hard at him, skeptical.  
  
"Look, just put the gun away. You can keep it if it makes you feel safer. Just listen to what I have to say, all right?" he asked. Reva didn't budge. Finally she loosed her steadying hand, put the three main fingertips on her forehead and drew the hand down sharply into a "Y". Robert frowned.  
  
"I don't read sign language, Reva," he said gently. Reva scowled, then very slowly lowered the gun. One handed she pointed it to the ground and moved forward to within a few feet of him but not close enough for him to grab her. Robert could see her knuckles were white on the grip of the Walther.  
  
"Why?" she whispered.  
  
"I live under the same designation as you. I know what it's like. Plus I understand how scared you are. I've been working with people in fear for several years now, who have seemingly impossible situations and have been helping them. It's my specialty, Reva. Here..." He dug into his breast pocket and withdrew a card. He stepped forward to hand it to her, but she just as uneasily backed up, the gun came up, also. Robert reached out and set it on top of Cheney's gravestone. He then stepped back and allowed her the option of taking it or not. Hesitant at first, she slowly lowered the gun again and approached the grave. Carefully, and never taking her eyes off of him, she picked up the card and read it, then backed up again.  
  
"That's what I do. I no longer work for the Company, no matter what Control or anyone else may think. I can and will help you Reva, if you'll let me. I promise I will not hurt you," he added. "I don't know what you know about me already, but you know that being a senior operative didn't happen without experience."  
  
"He helped you get here didn't he?" she asked, looking at him, fingering the card.  
  
"Yes, he did." Robert replied and appreciated how quickly the girl could put two and two together. "He asked me to help you..." For several minutes Reva just stared at him then she snorted in disgust.  
  
"He's providing help? That's rich," she dryly responded, her voice barely audible. Robert smiled slightly, nodding in agreement.  
  
"Yes it is, isn't it," he gazed at her. "But more than that dear, Mickey is my good friend and he cares about you. He wants me to help you as well." Reva stared a moment at him. He could see the tightness of her shoulders slowly begin to relax.  
  
"I uh..." she started, and looked away, gazing out over the fog enshrouded tombstones. She gently engaged the safety on the pistol. "I apologize, Mr. McCall, about taking the car. It's parked over there. It's got a full tank, too." She reversed the pistol, fishing with her other hand in her coat pocket for the keys. Stepping up to him she handed them over. Robert studied her tired, bruised face, smiling very gently.  
  
"That's quite all right," he murmured, taking the items with relief and making them vanish into his own coat. Reva sighed and ran nearly blue fingertips across the top of the gravestone.  
  
"Grandpa was my only father," she whispered. "My own Dad died when I was very small." Reva didn't see the flash of pain cross McCall's eyes as she spoke. "We talked about everything. He was my best friend. He's been gone a long time but when I need someone to talk to I come here."  
  
"Admiral Thornton was a great man." Robert murmured, inwardly wincing at the deep lonely gulf the girl revealed in herself to him. She glanced at him, a slight frown between her eyes.  
  
"Did you know him?"  
  
"Not very well, dear, but enough to respect him. I was here the day of his funeral."  
  
"You were?" she whispered, surprised.  
  
"In the background, yes. I was in Washington at that time and needed to pay my respects." It was the truth, if not all of it.  
  
"It's been ten years, Mr. McCall. I still miss him," she whispered it so quietly he barely heard her.  
  
"Reva, you look very tired. Why don't you come with me? Mickey is here with me; we've a room at the Hilton. He's very anxious about you. You also look frozen through."  
  
She gazed sadly at the marker, then looked at Robert with such a haunted pain that McCall would have gladly hit Control with every ounce of energy he had. She nodded. With a warm smile, Robert gently lay a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"If you need someone to talk to, Reva, I am more than willing to listen," he added. Reva stared at him, her jaw suddenly tightening, as she fought against tears welling in her eyes. The sight nearly tore Robert apart. Half of him wanted to wrap his arms around this lonely little creature and make all the pains go away. The other half wanted to tear Control into shreds.  
  
He felt Reva's shoulder relax under his hand as she decided to trust him.  
  
A strange metallic click floated eerily in the fog, snapping both to attention. Robert's hand instantly slipped around her arm as his other pulled out his gun.  
  
"Not now!" he cursed under his breath, pushing the girl forward as he began moving them in the direction she had come. Reva looked at him, startled, seeing a grim, determined look on his face. "Foolish rookie mistake!" he growled as he propelled her ahead of him.  
  
"Stick close to me and do exactly as I tell you." Robert said to her, sternly. "That was a pistol round being chambered, definitely by someone not Company related," he said by way of explanation and sounding disgusted.  
  
Reva, who had begun to tense under his hand, found herself obeying the tone in his voice. She began moving towards the Jaguar.  
  
As they hurried past a large, fog-enshrouded tomb, Robert caught the barest glimpse to his left of a ghostly figure in the mists bearing a resemblance to Control. He felt Reva tense again, took a quick glance at her and could see a frown of recognition appearing on her face. As she paused, Robert hurried her on.  
  
"Let them handle this!" he urged. Out of the gloom, his Jaguar appeared along with a grounds maintenance truck parked in front of it. As they both heard the sounds of someone getting slugged hard in the gut off to their left, Reva started, moving faster for the car.  
  
From their right, an unfamiliar man loomed out of the fog and began to run towards them, shouting "Hey!"  
  
"It's all right," Robert said as she gasped in alarm, looking in the direction of the noise. The fog distorted the sounds of a brief struggle. He pushed her forward.  
  
"Hold it right there!" The strange man yelled, lifting a gun. "I only want her!"  
  
Robert twisted, putting himself between Reva and the stranger as he pulled out his keys. Ignoring the threats, he shoved them into the lock and swiftly opened the door, guiding her inside. "Lock it!" he snapped, shutting the door. He jogged to his side, climbed in, and inserted the keys into the ignition as Reva scrambled to obey.  
  
"I said hold it right there!" The man bellowed, rapidly gaining on them.  
  
"It's time to get you out of this mess," Robert said, as Reva stared in horror at the approaching man. McCall started the car, rapidly shifting into reverse.  
  
"Ohh." She began to gasp as the man raised his gun to fire. Robert had just begun to back the car up when another figure loomed out of the fog, running low and fast towards them.  
  
Reva barely had time to recognize Mickey's green army jacket as he bodily tackled the man, literally catching the stranger low on his legs and lifting him up off the ground. Both men hit the hood of the Jaguar hard then rolled down the hood as Robert abruptly floored the accelerator.  
  
"Mickey!" Reva gasped. Horrified, she watched as both men crashed to the pavement, beginning to struggle for control of the gun. The grappling was furious, as Mickey quickly succeeded in getting his opponent onto his stomach, one hand clenched around the other's wrist, holding the gun away. The other man tried twisting away as Mickey's other arm wrapped itself around the stranger's throat.  
  
For a split second time seemed to stop as Reva watched Mickey abruptly let the stranger's gun hand go. His arm clenched the man's neck tighter as he reached up and grabbed his head. With his knee firmly planted in the man's back and his other foot solidly on pavement, Mickey snarled at the man. A mask of cold certainty had transformed Mickey's face as the stranger violently struggled, trying to swing the gun back at his opponent. The stranger's face contorted, his struggles became desperate as Mickey's fingers clenched his hair and his chin.  
  
Mickey began to speak, his lips moving as a strange smile crept across his face. Only Reva could make out what he was saying, chilling her to the bone. The stranger aimed his gun back over himself with a combined look of determination and hopeless realization.  
  
"Mickey?!" Reva gasped in surprise, reaching for the door handle. She could see his arms and shoulders tensing in preparation to.  
  
"No! He's doing his job, let him!" Robert barked roughly, his arm coming out, holding her into the seat.  
  
"No," Reva protested, as the two men continued to struggle furiously. "That guy still has his gun!"  
  
Robert jerked the wheel of the Jaguar left, whipping the car around, tires screaming in protest. It muffled the sound of the gun as it went off.  
  
"No!" Reva cried, twisting around in the seat, trying to look back as McCall shifted gears. Robert's arm reached back up to grip her shoulder.  
  
"Do not look!" he snapped, forcing her attention towards him as the Jaguar picked up speed. "For God's sake, don't look!"  
  
  
  
By the time Robert reached the hotel, Reva had collapsed back into the seat, fighting for her breath and shaking like a leaf. She was staring at the dashboard, not seeing it, as pictures flashed across her vision. He said nothing, letting her regain her composure. As he pulled into the parking garage, he caught sight of a tall, almost gangly figure, recognizing it as Jacob Stock. The man nodded at Robert as he passed, looking calm and composed. Robert refrained from sighing in relief. Stock's presence meant the place was secure.  
  
He parked the Jaguar near the elevator and climbed out, searching the surrounding cars a moment before walking around to open Reva's side. She hadn't moved. "Reva?" he asked gently.  
  
Feeling the cold air against her face, she blinked, frowned, and looked up at him. Robert was smiling gently and holding out his hand.  
  
"It's safe, dear," he reassured. "We can rest here. Come along, I'll take you up to the suite."  
  
She paused for several minutes, her grey eyes inscrutable, before reaching up and taking his hand. He helped her out of the car, settled her hand on his forearm, gently shut the Jaguar's door and led them to the elevators.  
  
On the way up, McCall noticed two other Company agents, discreetly being low-key, before he guided Reva into the suite. He didn't relax until he had the door closed and locked.  
  
"Allow me?" he asked Reva, setting his hands on her shoulders. She frowned in confusion, looking around the huge room. Realization colored her face and she let him divest her of her coat.  
  
"Master bedroom is to the left." Robert said gently as he neatly folded her coat before setting it on the armrest of a couch. He nodded to indicated the way. "If you'd like, I'll have room service bring us up something to eat?" Reva looked at him sadly and barely shook her head.  
  
"Reva?" he said as she wandered away from him. She paused, looking back at him, haunted and weary.  
  
"I know Mickey. He'll be all right."  
  
She stood still a moment longer, then nodded again and vanished into the bedroom.  
  
  
  
Not quite an hour later, Robert, having shed his own overcoat, was slowly pacing in front of a set of sliding glass windows, a saucer in one hand, cup in the other. His brain had latched onto the situation like a tenacious bulldog, refusing to let go. He was just setting the cup on the plate when he heard the keys in the lock. Kostmayer abruptly stumbled in. Disheveled and still exuding pent up energy, he took one look at Robert and immediately turned left.  
  
Finding sleep impossible, Reva had simply sat on the edge of the bed, gazing out the window, her thoughts a thousand miles away. She quickly rose, however, at the entrance of Mickey through the door.  
  
"Reeve?" he asked, walking up to her. She didn't move as his gloved hands reached up and cupped her face, tilting her head to look at him.  
  
Two things struck her as she stared back into his worried eyes. The smell of gunpowder and burnt hair, a light coating of soot and the blood trickling down the right side of his head, matting his hair and staining his jacket.  
  
"Don't ever," he said low and urgently. "Don't you ever take off on us like that again."  
  
A frown crossed her features as her hand reached up to touch his collar. She stared at the blood on her fingertips. "You're bleeding." she barely whispered.  
  
"It's not the first time." he replied. "Reeve? Don't run off on me like that again, understand?"  
  
"Mick." Robert's softly cautioning voice floated in from behind them. Mickey barely turned his head to the side, listening. He looked back down at Reva, who had leaned her forehead into his chest, her still bandaged hand resting on his arm.  
  
"I'm tired of this," she barely whispered, sounding weary. The faintest of smirks appeared on Mickey's features as he slid his hands to her shoulders, pulling her in closer.  
  
"Ain't that the truth." he muttered, wrapping his arms around her. The sound of movement behind them brought Mickey's head back up.  
  
"Well?" Robert asked, but not addressing them. Mickey frowned, keeping one arm around Reva's shoulders as he turned to look.  
  
Control had entered the suite and stood in the hallway, he looked right past Mickey and directly at Reva.  
  
Control's hand lifted and waved, like warding off a moth at Robert's question. His face was set in concrete as he looked at Reva.  
  
"It's cleaned up," he said distractedly, before his gaze shifted to Kostmayer. "Though I hardly need remind you how unnecessary your actions were."  
  
Mickey felt Reva, under his arm, go completely rigid and tense.  
  
"Didn't seem like that at the time." Mickey replied with a smirk, raising a blood splattered and powder burned eyebrow. He felt movement and looked at Reva.  
  
Her face had changed, looking angry and pale.  
  
"Get out!" she hissed, her eyes locked on Control's.  
  
"Reeve." Control started. Robert glanced at him, noticing the use of her nickname.  
  
"Get out!" she grated out sharply, livid ire tainting her already damaged voice  
  
Mickey could feel the tension getting ready to boil out of her and he gently gripped her shoulder, preventing her from moving. She grasped his arm, trying to pull it away.  
  
"I think the lady would like you to leave." Mickey said, gently holding her back, as he began to smile.  
  
"Kostmayer." Control started, shifting his gaze away from Reva and looking at Mickey with a barely tolerant glare.  
  
"Get out!" Reva repeated, trying to get past Mickey. Feeling his resistance at letting her go, she looked at him. "Get him out of here!"  
  
Mickey's quirky lips curled even more, as a glint lit his dark eyes. "My pleasure." he murmured to her, with intent.  
  
"Mickey," Robert's voice cut through the tension. Kostmayer glanced at McCall. The older man was looking directly at him, lightly pointing at his temple and nodding once towards the living room. There was enough steel in his eyes that he'd accept no question of his request. Mickey smirked at him, snorting in disgust.  
  
"C'mon," he said to Reva, as he gently steered her past a silent and brooding Control into the living room. Reva bristled the entire way.  
  
Robert turned in towards the kitchenette. "Let's take a look at that mess, Kostmayer," he said to Mickey as Reva turned from him, towards Control.  
  
Control had stepped back to let them pass and silently shut the door to the hallway. He said nothing as he watched the two carefully. He tugged back his trench coat and shoved his hands in his pants pockets, shoulders hunching, brow furrowed in thought, as Reva turned from Kostmayer to face him. When was the last time he had seen her? His own memories began to replay inside his head, which he promptly clamped down on and shoved away. The girl before him was white-lipped in anger, pale, bruised, scarred. his eyes drifted a second across the two sets of stitches before settling a moment on the ones marring her throat.  
  
"Get out," she was repeating, her voice catching, hand reaching up.  
  
"Watch the voice." Mickey cautioned as he let her go.  
  
"Have a seat, Mickey," McCall stated, as the sound of water came from the kitchenette.  
  
"Revekkah." Control heaved a sigh and looked away.  
  
Mickey pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, keeping an eye on Reva, who had come to a stop in the living room and glared at the man in the hall. He peeled off his army coat and draped it carelessly across the back of the chair. Robert emerged a moment later with a bowl of water, a towel and a first aid kit. He glanced over at Control as Kostmayer was sitting down. For the briefest moment, Robert could see a deep gulf of pain and loneliness in the man's blue eyes, that and a stinging hurt. He pursed his lips thoughtfully as Mickey sat back in the chair.  
  
"Get out of here!" Reva snapped, her hands involuntarily moving at the same time.  
  
"Take it easy, Reva. don't strain your throat," Control said quietly. Reva stopped, staring at him in a mixture of anger and incredulity. She let out a half-laugh of disbelief.  
  
"What the hell would you know about it!?" she rasped at him, her voice rapidly failing. She stifled a cough, scowling in frustration, her hands sharply punctuating her words where her voice couldn't. She turned towards Mickey, looking at him in frustration as she began to move towards him. Robert watched them as he wrung out a wet cloth in the bowl and handed it to Mickey, who promptly began to wipe the majority of the blood and soot off his face.  
  
"Enough to know that if you keep that up you'll rupture the sutures and start bleeding again," Control replied. "Sign it, I'll understand."  
  
Mickey was looking directly at Reva as he wiped his face off. Her eyes went huge as an ugly snarl lifted her lips. "Oh boy." he murmured as Robert took the cloth from him. Reva spun around.  
  
"You what?" she hissed.  
  
"Sign language," Control said wearily, "I understand it. Don't stress your throat." He barely had the words out of his mouth when she was across the room in a flash. He looked at her, startled a moment as she took a swing at him. Only his own hands moved a bit faster, catching one wrist then the other as she came around. For a brief moment she struggled against his grasp, an exercise in futility; not seeing the look on his face. Her own features contorted in rage.  
  
"Whoa," Mickey murmured, smiling slightly, as Robert tipped his head to examine the wound.  
  
"Kostmayer." Robert said wearily, glancing at Control.  
  
"Reva," Control sighed, bringing her wrists together and forcing them down, firm but gentle. " I knew ASL before all this."  
  
She paused in her struggling, looking at him in a mixture of confusion and disgust. He gazed steadily back at her.  
  
"Now's not the time to get into all this. If you want to take a piece out of me, we'll do it later and in private," he said. She jerked her arms away, backing up, glaring at him.  
  
"Like hell, we will." she said, but nothing came from her throat, her hands flew. "You'll just disappear. Just like you did before!"  
  
"Reva." he replied, patiently.  
  
"What?!" she signed. "I wouldn't be in this damned mess if it weren't for you. This is your fault!"  
  
Control looked away from her, sighing.  
  
"You think I don't know that?" he replied, looking back at her, "I am perfectly well aware of my responsibility in this situation."  
  
"You liar," she snapped back. "You left me behind to face all of this. You left me behind, alone. You sentenced me to life in prison with nothing! Nothing but fear and loneliness! Always having to watch my back, always having to deal with this shit alone! You were never there! Nobody was!" Her hands moved sharply, quickly emphasizing the anger that poured out of the girl.  
  
"Now I have to deal with people trying to bash my head in, people trying to attack me, people I have had to ki." She stopped, her eyes reflecting anger and horror. She looked away from him, her face radiating conflicting emotions.  
  
Robert glanced over at the pair as he finished examining the wound to Mickey's head. Kostmayer had come excruciatingly close to getting his head blown off. "I bet that ear is still ringing," he said dryly, opening the kit.  
  
"Not as much as his are about to." Mickey smirked as Robert draped the towel on his shoulder then rinsed out the rag he had used.  
  
"My responsibility." Control said softly. "Who do you think took care of that?"  
  
"Conveniently covered up an investigation?" Mickey asked. "So you can use it against us later?"  
  
"Kostmayer, stay the hell out of this. It's none of your business." Control hissed, never taking his eyes off Reva.  
  
Robert had set the rag on Mickey's wound and pushed, hard. Mickey jolted in his seat, reaching up and looking at McCall in wide-eyed hurt.  
  
"Oww.." he started to say and looked at Robert's eyes. McCall had set his hand on Mickey's shoulder. Very softly, and almost in his ear, Robert said slowly.  
  
"Mickey? Shut. Up."  
  
Mickey's chin tucked in as he looked at Robert's no nonsense gaze. He heaved a sigh and relaxed, smirking in disgust and glanced back out at the drama unfolding before them.  
  
"Reeve, remember three summers back when you found that tiger cat of yours? Out on the float? Half drowned? You rescued him, named him Toby?" Control said softly, his blue-eyed gaze fixed on her. Reva froze, staring at him in shock.  
  
"You spent three days coaxing him back to health. Or how about landing the 'Flying Dutchman' Contract? Your Grandpa loved telling you his old sea stories and you've always been fascinated by that sea legend, you were beside yourself in joy when you got it." he carefully pursed his lips, the room suddenly getting eerily silent.  
  
"Or the time you hunted all over southern Maine trying to find a Japanese Full Moon Maple for the garden. Didn't think I knew about those? How you blended in ornamental grasses at the back to coincide with the beach grasses? Or the Austin Roses you've been planting because you love the fragrance?"  
  
"Better yet, how about the Caldecott Ceremony, when you received your award and Maurice Sendak sent you back that congratulation note? Which you've sealed behind that signed lithograph you have hanging in the dining room?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her.  
  
"I had to put distance between you and me, girl. But I certainly never abandoned you." He glanced up at Robert to find both he and Kostmayer staring at him. He closed his eyes wearily and looked back down at an immobile Reva. "Would you like me to go on?"  
  
Her hands moved, crisp, precise.  
  
"You Son-of-a-bitch." she stared at him. "All this time, you've known that? All. this. time?" she looked at him accusingly. "And never once bothered to say anything? You packed me up like a old trunk and stuffed me in a corner, to rot away and be forgotten?" She began to pace in agitation, hands moving.  
  
"All this time you've been watching me? Like I'm going to do something? You were the one who dumped me off like some broken toy, never to be played with again and you've kept one of your pet spies around to watch me? For four years!? Never once bothering to come out and explain why?" She spun back around, glaring at him straight in the eyes. "Why?!" she signed, savagely. She drew closer, her face contorted with years of pent up emotions.  
  
"Why?!" she demanded. "I haven't seen you since. since." She looked away from him, missing the well of hurt surfacing in his eyes. His face had gone grim, lips pulled downward as she unleashed her tirade. She began shaking, her signing showing her anger.  
  
"You left me to bleed to death on that floor! You were never there afterwards. Hell, you weren't even there when it was starting to go down. The last time I saw you, you were leaving the room. You were never around when they told me I'd never speak right again, you weren't there when I had to go to all those classes, the rehabilitation. You weren't there when I had to clean the wound and the dressings. You weren't there when people started invading my home last month. You were never there!"  
  
She looked back at him, hatred and hurt reflecting in her eyes as he closed his own, his head barely dipping down.  
  
"You were never there. Only some proxy, but never you," she signed pointedly and angrily.  
  
Tension and silence filled the room as Control opened his eyes and stared back down at her. He asked her a very simple question.  
  
"Reva?" he murmured very softly, trying to pitch to her ears only. "Who do you think was holding your throat together and keeping you from bleeding to death that night?"  
  
  
  
Both Robert and Mickey watched the two combatants closely as Robert tended to Mickey's wound. Kostmayer had tipped his head sideways, allowing Robert easier access and totally ignored the pain involved as he watched Reva trying to carve Control up.  
  
Robert kept a wary eye on both what he was doing and the situation unfolding before him. He could easily see that Reva was letting loose years of bottled up stress, but the response coming from Control held his attention.  
  
For the briefest moment, Control seemed to deflate. Hurt and something far deeper under the surface lurked behind the man's blue eyes. Reva's anger was doing more to the man then simply met the eye. Robert glanced at Mickey, who was watching the entire proceeding in fascination and knew that Kostmayer could follow her signing.  
  
Both strained to catch what Control murmured to the girl, hearing his voice but unable to make out the words. Whatever he said brought the girl to a standstill, frozen in place and completely speechless. Robert decided it was time to intervene.  
  
He cleared his throat, looking at Control curiously.  
  
"Control? Just who is after the girl and why?"  
  
Control frowned at Robert, puzzled a moment by the question.  
  
"We've been talking about it all night. You know it's Masur, we just don't have proof."  
  
"We've been theorizing and conjecturing that it's Masur. How do we get proof and what makes you think he's behind it?" Robert reiterated.  
  
Reva, already stunned, looked at Control accusingly.  
  
"Jason Masur?!" she snapped. "You didn't think it was important enough to tell me he's back?"  
  
"He's back. Been back since October." Control replied brusquely, looking at Robert. "What are you thinking?"  
  
"How do you know it's Masur?" Robert bluntly asked, finishing with Kostmayer. He patted Mickey's shoulder, who glanced up at him with thanks, reaching up to feel around the freshly cleaned wound.  
  
Control heaved a sigh, looking at Robert a moment then down at Reva. His hands slipped back into his pants pockets as he began to rock back and forth on his heels.  
  
"Senator Crowley has been thick with Masur for years. Several months ago, Masur finally got a message to him and Crowley went to my superiors to get Jason back into the States. At first they denied it, not only for his involvement with you." He looked pointedly at Robert. "But also his suspected involvement in the situation with Reva."  
  
He looked at her again, noting that she was watching his every move, at least until she caught sight of Mickey as he stood up. She immediately turned away from Control towards Mickey. Robert didn't miss seeing the mask that slipped into place on Control's face.  
  
"His ties to Reva's case sealed his banishment. Until Crowley managed to convince my superiors to let him come back under the stipulation that he never return to New York." Again he glanced at Reva.  
  
"Which is when you started noticing people watching your house," Mickey said to her as she stepped up to him. She gazed at the wound on his head, her features reflecting strain and concern. He smiled gently, shrugging as he set his hands on her shoulders and looked directly at Control.  
  
"We've known that Robbins is one of Jason's buddies. It was no surprise to find that it was he who ended up in the morgue the other night when you were attacked out on Highway One. It was Robbins who was slipped into the security detail at the last minute, four years ago. And it was he who disappeared at a convenient time."  
  
Reva started a little at his mention of the Highway, then sighed in resignation, reaching up to grip Mickey's hand with her bandaged one and dropping her head wearily.  
  
"We've managed to trace Robbins' partner to the theft of the Global Positioning device found in your truck's gas tank." Control continued watching as Reva's energy fizzled out. "And now we have him squirreled away for questioning."  
  
"You what?" Robert asked.  
  
"There were two men at Arlington," Control replied, looking pointedly at Mickey. "The one you eliminated and the one I caught. I gave him to Jacob to play with."  
  
"So we have Robbins as the man slipped into the security at the function in which Reva was attacked. We have his partner who was behind the theft of the GP device. We have Masur's return from Beirut, the break-in to Reva's home and subsequent attack. All pointing at Masur." Robert summed up.  
  
"That's the gist of it.." Control echoed. "What are you thinking, old son?"  
  
Robert frowned thoughtfully as he finished putting away the first aid supplies. He looked at Control, then glanced at Reva and Mickey.  
  
"Masur wants something. He either wants what Reva has locked away in her head or he thinks she knows something to incriminate him. And I am inclined to believe the latter."  
  
Control frowned. "What makes you think that?" he asked.  
  
Robert's eyebrows lifted in thought. "The nature of the attack. Why not just kidnap the girl? Robbins was obviously out to inflict damage."  
  
"Good point," Mickey murmured, looking down at her. "If he just wanted to use her, he'd see to it she wasn't injured."  
  
"So he thinks you know something," Robert said as she turned and looked at him. "If he wanted to use you, he'd have been trying to get a hold of you, even while he was in Beirut. However, now that he is trying to get his foothold back in the United States, he sees you as some sort of threat. The question now is, why?"  
  
"He knows better then to come right out and mess with an agent designated yellow, so he uses others who don't know." Control looked over at her then, frowning in thought. "Reeve?" he asked. "What do you remember about that night?"  
  
All she did was shoot him a glare. Control sighed.  
  
"If we're going to get you out of this mess, we have to know everything," he said patiently. She smiled sourly, turning around in Mickey's arms to face him.  
  
"We?" She signed. "You tell me. since you seem to know everything about me already," she replied. "The only thing I recall very clearly was you leaving the room."  
  
"Reva," Robert asked. "Do you recall anything about the people assigned to watch that night? Anything different?" She glanced at him, and shrugged.  
  
"I didn't recognize one of the security personnel. He had made sure I saw them at least once before we actually went in to the party." She nodded at Control. "This guy I never saw. I just recognized the other two fellas with him."  
  
"That was Robbins," Control confirmed. "John Jernigan was supposed to be the one there, somehow he wrecked his motorcycle the night before the party and was incapacitated."  
  
"Convenient," Mickey drawled.  
  
"A little too convenient," Control replied, stroking his upper lip thoughtfully, brow furrowed in concentration. One could almost see the gears spinning around in his head.  
  
"What occurred with Robbins?" Robert asked, looking pointedly at Control. The Company head looked up at Robert.  
  
"He was supposed to be keeping an eye on her whereabouts. When she went into the ladies room, he removed himself from his area. When she came back out, she began looking around for me. I had, however, gotten wind that something was going down. I couldn't locate Robbins and by the time I got a message through to the other operatives, Bin Ismail's people were culling her from the crowd." he looked back at Reva, continuing to speak to Robert. "When I made my move to reach her it was far too late."  
  
Under his hands, Mickey could feel Reva tensing up. He glanced at her as she turned her eyes away from Control and saw the look of confusion on her face.  
  
"Yet there's no connection between Robbins and Ismail's people?" Robert asked sharply. Control shook his head.  
  
"None. We've exhausted that route. Robbins was small time and known to be a buddy of Jason's, and Jason had made it very clear to all comers how much he despised Reva. He arranged something between himself and Robbins to discredit her somehow. Instead she was attacked. Which reflected badly on him as it sealed his orders to Beirut."  
  
"Does he know this?" Robert asked. Control shook his head, frowning.  
  
"No way he could. We got him out as fast as possible. Are you thinking that he suspects she might know something which she could use to prevent him from whatever goals he might be after?"  
  
"That, or he simply wants her removed. If he could get his hands on her, he surely would use what she might know against you, but it still seems as though he just wants her out of the way."  
  
"Or temporarily out of the way until he's in a position to use her."  
  
"Why not just go after her for getting him sent to Beirut?" Mickey asked. Both men looked at him.  
  
"There's that, also." Robert replied, nodding thoughtfully. "Masur will know enough tricks to make sure his hands are one hundred percent clean. Especially in regards to a Yellow Code designation." He looked back at Control, his voice holding just a trace of sarcasm.  
  
"So," he continued. "What we need to do is flush him out. Make him actually do something. And to do that we need to do one thing for certain."  
  
"Which is?" Control asked.  
  
"Remove the code designation on Reva." Robert simply replied.  
  
The entire room went silent as three pairs of eyes looked at him.  
  
"No way," A pair of voices chorused simultaneously. Control and Kostmayer glared at each other.  
  
"Too dangerous," Mickey quickly recovered. Control, head tilted downwards, brows lowered, glowered at him and then looked at Robert.  
  
"Now who's out of their mind?" he demanded. Robert smiled like a Cheshire cat.  
  
"We both know you can never retire from the Company," Robert said icily. "Reactivating her status will drop the Code and force Jason to make some sort of move. He knows there's a death sentence attached to any involvements around her as it sits now. Remove that hurdle and he will do something to correct that situation. Only we will be there to make sure he gets caught this time."  
  
"Absolutely not," Control replied  
  
"Too risky, McCall," Mickey was shaking his head no, his hands reflexively gripping Reva's shoulders.  
  
Robert smiled tolerantly and looked at Reva.  
  
"I wouldn't suggest it as a course of action under normal circumstances, due to the risk factor involved, however, this is a Company operative we're dealing with, on both ends. The decision ultimately is up to you."  
  
"And if I object?" Control protested, looking back at Robert. "I do have a considerable amount of say in all this, you know."  
  
"Not any more," Reva's harsh whisper responded.  
  
"Reeve." Mickey started. She held up a hand, cutting him off.  
  
Control shot an angry glare at her. "Think again, young lady."  
  
"What are you thinking?" she asked Robert directly, pointedly ignoring Control.  
  
"Reva," Control snapped.  
  
She fairly exploded under Mickey's hands.  
  
"I didn't ask you!" she signed rapidly, her voice nearly gone, eyes glaring back at him. "I didn't ask you to get me into this mess, and I am certainly not asking you to get me out of it! You made your position with me very clear four years ago. I am asking for his help, not yours!" She pointed directly at Robert.  
  
"I will not see your life sacrificed to the likes of Jason Masur.." Control started to growl.  
  
"My life was sacrificed already when I agreed to your machinations! You were the one to talk me into this whole thing in the first place and you had a convenient threat to carry it all through. If going back into this business will help rid me of someone who seems bound and determined to do me harm, then I will go back into it, whether you like it or not!" She scowled at him, eyes challenging.  
  
Control closed his eyes a moment, his mouth set in disapproval.  
  
"I will not go back into that kind of isolation knowing that someone out there is set to either hurt me or use what I know in here," she seethed, pointing at her skull. "It's bad enough being alone, but I will not be left alone with that kind of fear." She looked at Robert. "What do you have in mind and what do you want me to do?"  
  
"Reeve, think twice." Mickey started. As she twisted around to look at him, he was struck by the look of hopelessness in her eyes.  
  
"I have to, Mickey," she whispered to his ears alone.  
  
"Listen to him, for crying out loud!" Control snapped. Reva just shot him a withering glance and turned back towards Robert.  
  
"What do you want me to do?"  
  
"You do realize, don't you, that you can't get back into this business without my approval." Control snapped at her.  
  
"Getting your approval is no obstacle," Reva retorted, very deliberately miming the actions of writing a signature. Control glared at her.  
  
"Are you trying to blackmail me?" he hissed, straightening to an intimidating pose.  
  
Reva only smiled at him in return.  
  
"Now who's caught between a rock and a hard place?" Mickey murmured, trying not to smirk. He looked down at Reva. "But think about this, Reva. There's no telling what living four years in a war-zone has done to Masur's head," Mickey paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Then again, there isn't that much up there to work with."  
  
"There is no question being over there for so long under those conditions will have affected him," Robert said. "Jason's always been one to let his ambitions get ahead of him, despite the consequences." He looked at Control. "We need her credentials restored and a weapon issued. Then we need the man you gave to Jacob to play with sent to deliver a message to Jason that Reva is returning to full time duty, tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow?" Control snapped at him. Robert just smiled at him.  
  
"I'm sure you'll have no trouble getting that arranged." He looked at Mickey. "Kostmayer, you need to get into the Company complex unnoticed, assuming you've been in the DC headquarters?"  
  
"Often," Mickey drawled. Robert nodded his approval.  
  
"Just what are you planning?" Control growled unhappily.  
  
"Cover," Robert said. "You and I can't be seen on the agency grounds. What we will do is have Stock bring us into the parking garage. From there, Kostmayer will meet her at the elevators and see to it she gets to where she can pick up her identification. At that point, he'll fade back, keeping an eye on things while she delivers a packet to Jason." He looked at Reva. "Two things will occur at that point under which you must keep a level head," he said to her.  
  
"Masur will make a fuss for certain. Then he'll either call your bluff and arrange to meet you somewhere else, or he'll make some sort of move before you leave the building. With his ego, I'm counting on it being before you leave the building."  
  
"And we will be?" Control demanded. Robert smiled tolerantly at him.  
  
"Waiting. Once Reva delivers her package to him, she'll go straight to the elevator and down to collect her gun. Kostmayer, you'll get back on the elevator shortly after she does and meet us in the garage. By then you should have enough of your people in place to have the garage covered in case anything should happen."  
  
"And her?" Control snapped.  
  
"Reva will come straight back to the garage. At least that way she will be armed. By then Jason will have made some sort of move, or arrange to meet somewhere else. If such is the case we'll prepare plans for that when the time comes." Robert looked at Reva again.  
  
"Are we clear on what we're to do?" he asked. She nodded. Robert raised a stern warning finger. "Under no, absolutely no, circumstances are you to deviate from that course of action. Am I clear?"  
  
She nodded again. Robert maintained his steady, steely gaze.  
  
"You made the mistake once of acting on your own, you cannot do that again now. Your life depends on doing exactly as I say. Understood?"  
  
Wearily Reva closed her eyes, her shoulders dropping as she reached up to rub at her tired eyes. She nodded her head. "Understood," she whispered in her damaged voice.  
  
Control heaved a reluctant sigh. "What package, Robert?" he asked. Robert looked at him.  
  
"Package? Oh yes." he looked at Reva. "We'll need you to draw some pictures from the night of the party. Pictures that depict actual scenes you remember. Only you will add Jason to them. You will tell him that they, and other documents, all duplicates, will clearly show his violations of interfering in an assignment other than his own. Which is a clear violation of Company rules. You will tell him that you have requested active status to protect yourself and will have an audience with Control's superiors to voice your concerns about his breaking of the rules."  
  
"Which will force him into some sort of move." Mickey purred.  
  
"That's the intent," Robert said. "Control? What we need are specific blank Company documents that she can use her skills on. I'm sure you'll know which ones to get. Kostmayer, you'll need to find your own way into the building." Robert looked at Reva. "And you and I need to have a little talk."  
  
She frowned in confusion, looking at him.  
  
"Control, would you mind picking us up a few supplies?" Robert asked moving towards the door, holding his hand out before him indicating that the other man should lead the way. Control scowled his annoyance, but his heeding of Robert's request to leave was his seal that Robert's plan was being approved.  
  
In the hallway, Robert shut the door after him and gazed steadily at the other man.  
  
"This had better work, Robert!" Control growled at him.  
  
"Oh I have no doubt it will work. I just want to make damn good and sure that when this whole mess is finished, you tell me exactly what your connection to that girl is!" Robert tartly replied.  
  
"Done," Control snapped, turning on his heel. He began striding down the hallway as Robert turned back towards the door.  
  
  
  
In the room, Mickey was looking at Reva, his features devoid of expression, but nothing could hide the look of concern in his eyes.  
  
"Reeve." he started. She shrugged his hands off her shoulders, reaching up to grip her own forearms.  
  
"Mickey, please." she whispered, shaking her head.  
  
"There's no telling what Masur will try and do to you."  
  
"That's why this needs to be stopped now," she replied. "And if it means taking a part in it." she trailed off, looking at him sadly. The door to the room opened, causing both to turn and look at Robert.  
  
"Mickey? A word with you." Robert asked, remaining in the hall.  
  
Mickey looked back at her and smiled a rueful smirk. His eyes lingered briefly over her face before he reached up and touched her cheek.  
  
"I'm being dismissed." he murmured. "Which means you won't see me until tomorrow. Don't worry, I'll be waiting for you inside the building, just keep a sharp eye out." He looked earnestly at her.  
  
She was gazing back at him, her eyes drifting along the angry looking graze across his temple. She looked sad and lonely.  
  
"Reeve," he added quietly. "Trust Robert and remember." He met her eyes, smiling encouragement at her. "Don't forget what I told you last night at dinner." He leaned forward, brushing his lips lightly across hers, then he turned and left the room.  
  
Back in the hallway, Robert pulled the door nearly shut and looked at Mickey thoughtfully.  
  
"Kostmayer." he said slowly. "Heed my advice, my friend. Don't cross Control on this matter. He is your superior and this entire situation has made him very angry."  
  
"There's something deeper to it isn't there?" Mickey asked. Robert blinked once, raising an eyebrow in surprise at Mickey's astuteness. Mickey shrugged, slipping his hands inside his jacket pockets. "The room reeked of tension in there," he added.  
  
"When isn't something Control is involved in a lot deeper than what it actually appears to be?" Robert asked and snorted softly at Mickey's assumption. "Just make sure you get into that building unnoticed and keep an eye out for her."  
  
"Got no problem there," Mickey said as he started to pull his stocking hat out of his pocket. He reached up and felt the graze on his head, then shot Robert a rueful smirk and shrugged.  
  
"Mickey." Robert added as the other man began to leave. Kostmayer looked back over his shoulder. Robert drew in breath. "Think twice about getting involved with her, Mick. I know she's young, pretty and in a hell of a mess, but it's not worth the heartache this kind of business can bring."  
  
With barely a lift to his chin, Mickey nodded and left. Robert sighed, then pulled the hotel room door open and went in to face the last hurdle.  
  
Reva had wandered over to the sliding glass doors leading to a balcony and gazed out at the vista before her. Washington D.C. was getting another dose of winter weather as the freezing fog had finally turned to snow. She glanced up at him, still clutching at her arms as he shut the door and entered the room.  
  
"Would you like me to order anything for you, dear? I know I would very much like some tea."  
  
Reva just shook her head no, letting out a sigh of her own. Robert held a hand out towards the couch.  
  
"Come have a seat, Reva," he said gently. She glanced at him, lifting one eyebrow eloquently, the smallest of smirks crossing her lips, before she slowly turned from the window and sat down.  
  
He joined her, hiking the legs of his trousers up before sitting, then leaning forward to clasp his hands between his knees. He gazed thoughtfully at the coffee table.  
  
"I want you to rest assured that every attention to detail of your safety will be considered before you go in there, tomorrow." He looked her way to see her watching him gravely as she nodded her head.  
  
"Are you familiar with the layout of the building?" he asked. Again she nodded.  
  
"All you need to do is go to the reception desk to pick up your credentials. Then you'll locate Masur and deliver your message. Once that is done you'll go to the Range, pick up whatever weapon you are comfortable with then you'll get on the elevator and return to the parking garage. Between Kostmayer and Control, they'll have enough security in place that when and if Masur attempts anything, they'll be on top of it."  
  
For the third time she nodded, then relaxed back, sinking into the couch, resting her hands in her lap. She gazed at him, expectantly. Robert smiled slightly, seeing she was obviously waiting on him.  
  
"Forgive me, Reva. I find I hate dealing with Company screw-ups. Incompetence makes a grouchy old man out of me."  
  
Reva smiled softly in return. Robert studied her weary face a moment, taking in the stitches, the bruises and the dark circles under her eyes.  
  
"You really are going to create quite a sight when you walk in there tomorrow," he murmured.  
  
"I'll do exactly as you say," she whispered. "I'll even make sure Jason thinks I am the only one there."  
  
Robert smiled then, nodding his head in approval.  
  
"It's vital that you do. There is something else I'd like to discuss with you, along more personal lines, if you don't mind. We've a bit of time to wait for those supplies to get here for you to work with." Robert replied, twisting to face her better. She just watched him carefully. He regarded her momentarily, then continued.  
  
"Mickey is not only a colleague of mine, more importantly, he's also a very good friend. I've known him for quite some time, now. I've seen him when he hasn't exactly been at his best. He has never had anything close to a normal life, except, perhaps, for the past few years."  
  
Reva regarded him for a few seconds and then said, "Mickey's told me about his time in Leavenworth and why he was there."  
  
"Did he?" Robert asked. "It's never an easy thing for him to reveal," he murmured. "He's told you about his brother?"  
  
"Father Kostmayer?" Reva asked, raising an eyebrow. "Still working the old Polish section of Brooklyn. He comes from an Old World family, one son for God, one son for Country."  
  
"If what you call working for the Company is working for the Country." Robert replied dryly.  
  
"But what you want to ask isn't about what Mickey has told me," Reva whispered, regarding Robert frankly.  
  
The older man looked at her a moment, then snorted softly as he smiled. "No, you're quite right. What I would like to ask is personal."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"Just what are your regards towards him, Reva?"  
  
She didn't answer right away, she just sat back against the couch, still clutching her arms, the fingers of her right hand lightly stroking the fabric of her sweater. Her thoughts turned inward as she pondered the man's question.  
  
"I ask out of concern, Reva." Robert said gently. "I know it seems to be prying, but Mickey is a friend and I would like to consider you among my friends also."  
  
She looked back at him, her lips set thoughtfully. "I like him." she whispered. "We barely had time to get to know one another last summer, but I liked what I saw. I mean, he's funny, he likes doing stuff. he's very sweet really, considerate, you know?"  
  
Robert smiled a little sadly as he nodded his head.  
  
"Yes, I know," he studied her carefully, "Reva, what I am about to say is never easy. You may think I am being harsh and getting myself into your personal business. However, what I have to tell you is something I have lived. As well as many other people like Mickey and myself. It's also something Mickey hasn't ever dealt with before, either." Reva didn't respond, she just watched him. Robert continued.  
  
"Let me give you some words of advice to consider, my dear. I would hate to see you hurt further more than you have been already by this abominable business we deal with. Think very carefully Reva, about how you care for Mickey. Being personally involved with someone who does undercover espionage work is always a torture in never knowing what the other is doing. I speak from the heart, Reva. I have been involved with a few ladies in my lifetime and the relationships have never lasted. They never do. We're not allowed to make commitments. What is worse is the particular part of Mickey's work that he is involved in. His work is extremely dangerous and he operates around extremely violent forces. Mickey actually enjoys it, which can make this situation even worse. There comes a time when the possibility of the one you are in love with never coming home again and you never know the reason why."  
  
Something about the look in Robert's eyes stopped what threatened to spill out of Reva in irritation at his getting into her personal life. What he was saying was coming from his heart, something that had happened to him, something that he genuinely wanted to see her avoid. Reva could not refute the concern coming from the older man. That went further to dampen her irritation than anything else.  
  
"Think twice about your involvement with him. You two are at an early enough stage that you can prevent yourself a lot of heartache later on. I could never forgive myself, Reva, if I didn't say something to you about this before hand. It's an ugly business we're in, as I am sure you are more than well aware. It's even worse when your heart is involved."  
  
Reva couldn't refute his words or his sincerity. She said nothing, just gazed steadfastly at him as he spoke. Robert's words refused to leave her, even as she lay in the hotel room bed that night and thought long into the twilight hours about the situation she now found herself in.  
  
End of Part 4  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The following morning, Jacob Stock met them, driving a Ford Taurus with darkened windows. Control sat in the front passenger seat, minutely studying the contents of Reva's papers while she sat in the back seat next to Robert, bristling.  
  
Over the course of the previous evening, under Robert's instructions, she had forged several key pieces of paperwork incriminating Jason Masur. Then she had painstakingly drawn three different scenes from the ill-fated party she had attended four years previously.  
  
Control was carefully scanning those drawings, his own quirky memory recognizing several of the figures involved. Neatly drawn into the scenes was Masur himself.  
  
"Our pigeon should've dropped his message off to Jason by now." Jacob was murmuring as he drove through the sluggish traffic. The snow had never let up, creating a driving nightmare in the Nation's Capitol.  
  
Control snorted softly. "The secretaries are already complaining that he's been pacing the hallways this morning."  
  
"He has had to adhere to a number of conditions he has to follow since he's returned," Jacob said. "He's been extra careful not to leave DC, since he's been back."  
  
"Excellent. This will play into his paranoia very well," Robert said. Reva glanced at him a moment, then continued staring out the window, watching it snow.  
  
Before too long, Jacob was driving the car down into the lower level of the Company parking garage.  
  
"West side elevators," Control murmured to Stock as he slipped the papers back into their envelope. Robert frowned as he looked at Control.  
  
"I talked to Kostmayer briefly this morning. He's inside." Control replied, answering Robert's unspoken question. He twisted around in his seat and looked at Reva, as Jacob found a place to park near a huge concrete support to the building. Directly across from them was a bank of four elevators.  
  
"Kostmayer will meet you in the left side elevator," Control said, handing her the folder. "You're to go up, get your identification, go back into the same elevator, drop this off with Masur, then back to the same elevator to go down to get your gun. When you finish that, you're to come back to this car. Robert has to stay out of sight, but he'll be waiting here for you. Under no circumstances are you to deviate from that routine."  
  
Reva only raised an eyebrow at him and smirked, taking the folder from him. Control studied her briefly.  
  
"Do you understand?" he asked.  
  
"Yes Dear." she whispered sarcastically. Robert caught a flash of anger mingled with hurt seconds before a cold, stoic mask dropped over Control's face.  
  
"Don't change the plans." Control started to growl as Robert reached up and gently gripped Reva's shoulder. She looked at him and saw a stern warning in his hazel eyes. She sighed.  
  
"Go on." Robert said gently. Reva smirked again and let herself out of the car.  
  
"Stock, go and finalize your set-up." Control said, as both Robert and Stock got out. Stock nodded and strode away from the car as the other man swapped places with him. He settled in the seat and looked at Control.  
  
"This had better work," Control growled as he watched Reva cross the expanse of the parking garage.  
  
"That depends on her." Robert replied dryly, "And on what she remembers from what you taught her."  
  
"She'll not have forgotten that," Control replied bitterly. "She doesn't forget a thing."  
  
"Considering what she's been through? She's had four years to think about it." Robert shot back. Control didn't respond; he just watched as Reva reached the elevator, punched the button, and waited.  
  
As the door whooshed open, Reva shivered against the cold of the garage and wrapped her coat around her more snugly. She stepped inside, turned left and poked the button that lead to the lobby floor. She turned back and looked at the Ford Taurus, sealing it away into her memory. The door slid shut and for a moment the elevator didn't move. She frowned, looked warily at the door then reached over and poked the button again. Still it didn't move. About to reach for it again, a suspicious sounding thud jerked her head up. Reva stared at the ceiling.  
  
The sound of someone knocking on a front door thumped from the corner of the elevator ceiling furthest from the panel over her head. Reva's heart nearly landed in her throat as she backed up towards the wall. The panel abruptly lifted, revealing the unnatural brightness of a car light before being blocked by a pair of scruffy work boots. A pair of dark blue, coverall clad legs followed, before Mickey dropped into the car. She nearly sagged into the wall behind her in relief as he looked at her with a sly smirk.  
  
"Thought I'd drop in." he remarked as she looked at him. Several well- applied grease marks streaked both the coveralls and his face. He had worked his stocking cap on past his scalp wound, hiding the angry red welt. Reva sighed, smiling back at him. Mickey grinned.  
  
"Got a few things to do before you go back to work," he said as he stepped up to her, working off a pair of gloves. He gently pulled her forward, wrapping his arms around her. Reva sagged into him, closing her eyes as she hugged him close.  
  
"Scared?" He asked, whispering into her ear as he stroked her hair.  
  
"Terrified," She whispered, nodding her head.  
  
"Good," he replied, then he pulled back and looked at her. His lip quirked a little. Despite the situation surrounding them, Reva almost laughed.  
  
"Mickey." she whispered, waggling a finger at him and looking up.  
  
"I disabled all the cameras," he murmured, drawing her up. She looked a little bit surprised as he bent and kissed her. She let herself get lost for a moment in his embrace, before she began to laugh softly. Mickey drew back, stroking her hair gently away from the stitches on her forehead. He smiled at her as he pulled out a screwdriver from one of several pockets.  
  
"Sleep all right?" he asked, reluctantly letting her go and turning to the control panel.  
  
"No," she whispered. "How are you doing?" she asked, motioning at the side of her head and looking at him in concern.  
  
Mickey glanced at her as he began systematically tearing apart the control box. "The graze? Nothing to it. It's not like it's the first time it's happened." He smiled slightly at her look of consternation.  
  
"You look worn out," he said, pulling out wires. He absently reached into his back left pocket and pulled out a tiny, extremely flat, cassette recorder. As he studied the wires before him, he handed the device to Reva as his hand dove into another pocket. He pulled out a roll of white gauze, handing that to her also, as his other hand pulled out a set of wire cutters.  
  
"I'm sick of all this," she whispered, taking the recorder and gauze from him.  
  
"When this is over with." Mickey hinted. Reva just smiled sadly, studying the cassette case.  
  
"Robert forgot to add wiring you up, last night. Control reminded me this morning," he said as he glanced at her. She shook her head, smirking as he turned back to the spider's web of wires hanging from the control panel. Mickey began quickly and systematically cutting wires. He looked back at her as she raised a questioning eyebrow.  
  
"I got the most sensitive one available, just wrap it in gauze on your leg. With you already looking like a car accident victim, when they go to search you for a weapon, you'll just have another owie to show off," he smirked. "Besides, the guy searching you has already been told to let you through."  
  
"And who told him that?" she asked.  
  
Mickey only smiled as he hauled out two sets of hemostats and a handful of wire nuts. Holding several implements at once, he appeared for a few seconds like he was braiding wire together.  
  
"Who else?" he asked as he began cross connecting wires.  
  
Reva shook her head and knelt down to attach the recorder to her leg, pulling up the leg of her jeans. "What are you doing?" she asked.  
  
"Disabling all the buttons but four. Only Reception, the Garage, the 12th floor and the Range will work. That's why you'll need to stick to this elevator, plus it's my excuse for being where I need to be." He began screwing wire nuts into place as he repositioned the hemostats.  
  
"See, someone's going to come along and punch one of these other buttons." he reached around and poked a button at random on the panel. A small explosion of sparks blew up from the unit, showering all over Mickey and causing Reva to sit back with a thump as she gasped in fright. Mickey never moved as the smell of burnt metal, singed hair and smoke began to rise from the mass of wires.  
  
"And it will do that." he grinned at her. Reva sagged her shoulders, closing her eyes and dropping her chin to her chest.  
  
"Warn me next time." she whispered, pausing to run a shaky hand through her hair.  
  
"Don't poke the other buttons," he said, then tipped his head as he looked at her. She was trying to reach for the gauze, which had rolled away, to finish wrapping the recorder around her leg. He paused a moment in his manipulations. He knelt down in front of her.  
  
"Sorry." he murmured as he took the gauze from her fingers. He quickly wrapped her leg, tore a section of the gauze in two neat strips and tied it off. She looked at him and sighed.  
  
"I'm tired," she whispered.  
  
He smiled at her, tugging her pant leg back down over the makeshift bandage. Slipping his hand along her cheek he lightly stroked the soft skin under his thumb.  
  
"It'll be over before you know it," he murmured. "It's a simple in and out. Just don't deviate from the plan and we'll be out of here before you know it." He looked earnestly into her eyes. "Nick might be a little surprised to see us, but he'll mellow out."  
  
"I hope you're right," she whispered, reaching up to touch his hand.  
  
"Just trust me." he murmured back, gently kissing her cheek. He smiled and asked. "Still got our Beanie Buddy or whatever you call those things?"  
  
Reva blinked a little at his question, then slipped a hand in her coat pocket and pulled the otter Beanie out.  
  
"I see Okee is still with us," he grinned.  
  
"The Otter?" Reva suddenly asked, looking at him in surprise. "You didn't." she started.  
  
"I read the book as a child. why am I not surprised that you'd know that one?" Mickey answered for her. Reva looked at the otter for a second then reached up and poked it down one of his pockets.  
  
"No, wait." Mickey protested.  
  
"You hang onto him until this is over with," she said. "Please."  
  
"Reva," he started.  
  
"Please," she said as she searched his eyes.  
  
Mickey looked perplexed at her for a moment and then nodded. He scrambled to his feet and helped her up.  
  
"Let me get this finished and get this show on the road," he said. "This is voice activated so anything anyone says to you for the next half an hour or so, is going to get recorded on that tape. Control and myself will be listening in." Mickey reached into another pocket and pulled out a device that looked exactly like a hearing aid. Another hand reached in and pulled out what looked like a pager. He pointed it down at her leg, poking a button on it as he slipped the aide into his ear. He winced as he scraped the edge of his wound.  
  
"You're now going live," he said. He winked at her as he signaled her to sign. Reva just snorted softly and shook her head.  
  
"Let's see, we'll connect the blue wire, with the grey wire, with the yellow wire," Another fountain of sparks erupted from the panel. "Whoo hooo! Caught a hot one there." He snatched his hand back quickly, waggled his fingers a second before he stuffed two of them in his mouth, then he winked at Reva.  
  
  
  
Minutes later, and holding the door closed button on the reassembled panel, Mickey looked gravely at Reva.  
  
"Show's about to start. Keep calm and keep your head," he murmured to her.  
  
Reva, licking gently at suddenly dry lips, nodded her head, then flipped her hair over one shoulder to hang down to the middle of her back. She glanced at Mickey as he let go of the button. Drawing in a steadying breath, Reva stepped off the elevator.  
  
Head up, she looked quickly around the large hall, spotting the bank of security devices that preceded the actual reception area. Several people, heavily bundled against the cold, milled around the lobby either looking at the falling snow or bustling about somewhere on business. Several people could be heard muttering about the lousy weather.  
  
Ignoring them all, Reva squared her shoulders, her hands slipping into her pockets and headed straight for the only person on duty who was manning one of the airport style metal detectors.  
  
Mickey, in the elevator, acted like he was pulling the panel apart again when he suddenly did a double take as Reva walked away. He'd have sworn she mimicked one of Control's own quirks as she straightened her shoulders, slipped her hands into her coat and stalked towards the metal detectors. He had to refrain from smirking outright.  
  
At the detector, the man on duty took one look at her and paused. Reva looked him in the eye and could see that he recognized her instantly. She smiled wanly, setting her wallet on the conveyor then she stepped up to the device and walked through it. It immediately beeped.  
  
"Must be a belt buckle or something like that," the man said with a smile as she stepped to one side. He rose with the detecting wand as she held out her arms for him to begin scanning.  
  
"Button fly jeans," she said in her raspy voice, watching as he surreptitiously thumbed his device off and continued scanning her.  
  
"Sets these thing off all the time," he said trying not to look at the stitches on her forehead. Kostmayer warned him that she looked like something the cat dragged in. He finally cleared her and she retrieved her wallet. Reva whispered a thank you to him and headed for the reception desk.  
  
One of the women behind the bank style counter looked at her and tried not to stare.  
  
"I'm here to pick up my ID?" Reva asked, trying to get her gravelly voice to cooperate.  
  
"And you are?"  
  
"Revekkah Cheney," Reva replied and flipped her wallet open to her driver's license. Behind the counter she couldn't help but see two other ladies look her way, then begin whispering. She ignored them, but caught the name of Masur being bantered about. The woman she had approached took her wallet and turned to begin locating her identification. Reva slipped her hand into her pocket and extracted the half curled manila envelope holding the documents for Jason.  
  
Several minutes passed and the woman returned, holding several cards, a clip-on pass and her wallet. She was frowning and looking at Reva in puzzlement.  
  
"Top level security clearances." she murmured. Reva smiled coldly, holding out her hand. The woman slid her items to her, watching Reva closely. Reva clipped the ID tag on her coat lapel then began slipping her new identification cards into her wallet.  
  
"I understand Jason Masur is in the building?" Reva asked.  
  
The woman started, then nodded. "Yes he is, 12th floor. Would you like me to have him notified?"  
  
"No." Reva whispered as she slipped her wallet away, she smiled at the woman, straightened out the large envelope and turned away.  
  
Seconds later, she reentered the elevator that was being worked on and sighed with relief when the door shut. Mickey looked her over.  
  
"Perfect," he murmured encouragingly as he poked the button for the twelfth floor. He glanced at the ID badge hanging off her coat, saw the thin orange border around it and let out a low whistle.  
  
"Damn, same clearances as me."  
  
She smiled at him and shook her head. Just before reaching their floor, Mickey looked at her carefully. The corners of her mouth were nearly white with fright. He reached over and held the door closed button in.  
  
"You're doing fine, Reeve," he murmured. "This will be the tough one, just don't let Jason get under your skin. Deliver your papers to him and get back here. I'll be leaving the door open on this level, too, I'll be watching you every step of the way. Stock tells me his office is in view of the elevators."  
  
Reva nodded, drawing in a careful breath. She smiled wanly at him and lifted the papers.  
  
"Let's go see what happens." she whispered.  
  
  
  
Mickey nodded and released the button to the door. To their surprise the doors opened, allowing a cold blast of air to whoosh into the car. The two blinked at the cables, piping, metal works and wall of the building as the car stopped mid way between the 12th floor and the floor below. Mickey stood in shock, his nose level with the tiles of the 12th floor.  
  
"Oh shit." he murmured looking at the control panel in surprise. Reva looked at him in alarm. He instantly grinned and said loudly, "Not to worry Ma'am!" He grabbed the ledge to the floor and hoisted himself up and out of the elevator. "I'll have this elevator fixed in no time flat! Just give me your hand and I'll pull you on out." He instantly dropped to his knees and offered her a hand. Reva took it, looking at him in concern and let him haul her up onto the 12th floor.  
  
She turned and looked at the pulleys, cables, and various mechanisms that hauled the elevators up and down. Bitter cold air flooded onto the twelfth floor as the sounds of the other elevators could be heard whirring and engaging in their tracks. Mickey peered around the edges of the disabled car, looking at the huge cavernous hole disappearing into blackness both up and down the four different shafts. His feeble car light did nothing to penetrate the gloom.  
  
"Damn, it wasn't supposed to do that." he said as Reva straightened out her coat. He looked at her and winked as he withdrew a screwdriver from a pocket. "Sorry for the inconvenience, Ma'am." He said genially. "I'll have this car back up and running by the time you get your business done." With that, he turned towards the up/down control panel for calling the elevator car to that particular floor and began to tear it apart. Reva took her cue and started walking away.  
  
Again, she lifted her head, squared her shoulders and walked confidently down the hall. Mickey turned towards the disabled elevator and jerked the panel loose. Bent over the bewildering array of wires, he glanced cautiously in her direction and shook his head slightly at the vague resemblance to Control.  
  
"Must've picked that up out of osmosis," he muttered as he withdrew his wire cutters from a pocket. Another quick glance revealed a few offices within sight of the elevators. Hearing footsteps, he dropped his head and set about looking busy as Reva made her way down the hall.  
  
Her throat had gone completely dry as she looked into a few doors, but something irrevocable drew her to an open doorway farthest down the hall. She spotted the name Masur blazoned across it; however, as she approached the open door, nobody was inside. Reva stopped, looking carefully around the room, fingering the manila folder. She turned, looking down the hallway, seeing a few people mingling here and there. She didn't see Masur. Backing up she looked down the other way.  
  
"Shit." She softly hissed, looking carefully around as she tried to squelch a suddenly twisted knot in her stomach. She began walking back towards the bank of elevators, seeing a few people peering at the disabled car and Mickey as he tinkered with the panel.  
  
Ignoring them, she walked past the elevators, past a group of people milling about what appeared to be a break room and headed towards another series of offices. The door to one of them abruptly jerked open and Masur stepped out behind her.  
  
"Well, well, well." Jason almost purred. "Just look what the storm blew in."  
  
Reva turned in the hallway and stopped.  
  
He had hardly changed, except maybe a hardness around his dark brown eyes. Dressed in slacks, white shirt, tie and heavy sweater, he stood looking down at her. His hair was close cropped and curly and he still had the arrogance about his features which seemed to be permanently a part of his bearing. He had placed his hands on his hips and smirked at her.  
  
He let out a mocking half laugh as he looked her carefully over.  
  
"Scuttlebutt has it you came back on board." he said snidely. "Thought you might come back into the ring and try another few rounds? You screwed up so bad last time, what makes you think you can succeed this time? You can't even talk! This is no game for amateurs to play in."  
  
From behind him a man emerged from the office and walked casually away down the hall. Masur smiled at Reva as she stood and looked up at him. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized his face.  
  
"Some things never change." she whispered, seeing the group of people behind him, stop and look, their voices suddenly growing hushed. She held out the envelope to him.  
  
"You might want to look at these, Jason," she said. "They're part of the reason why I agreed to come back."  
  
Masur snorted derision, refusing to take the envelope. "What are these? More of your forgeries?" he turned and looked at the group behind him. "She's an artist." he said loudly, making quote marks with his fingers. "A two bit hustler who used to forge autographs to pay her way through art school." He looked back at her mockingly. "I'm not falling for any of Control's tricks either," he smiled an oily smile.  
  
"I don't need Control to get reinstated. I came back on my own, to talk to the upper level management." She whispered, still holding the envelope out. "I found evidence implicating you of violations to your returning to the U.S., not to mention violations of a Yellow Code. I fully intend on giving them the evidence and letting them decided what to do with you."  
  
"You're bluffing," Jason laughed. "Anybody in this complex will tell you I've stayed one hundred percent away from New York and I've kept every condition imposed on me since I came home. Conditions I might add, which aren't necessary, as I never violated anyone's standing in the Company hierarchy to begin with! Between Control and his Kangaroo court, McCall and you, you've all seen to it that I got dumped in a hell hole for the last four years!"  
  
"Believe what you want. I'm asking them for Arbitration to settle this mess once and for all," Reva replied, pulling the envelope back. "I'm only delivering these because I do believe you need fair representation before they hang you out to dry. Rest assured, the Committee will be getting a set of these as well. I needn't tell you where I have the originals."  
  
Jason snatched it from her hand, his mocking laugh echoing down the hall. "Oh they primed you really good, Cheney! That's an academy award performance," he leaned in towards her, forcing her to back up. "But if there is one thing I am not, it's a fool. I know only too well you were Control's little pet," he made a hard emphasis on 'pet' as he forced her towards the wall, his hands tearing the top of the envelope off.  
  
"I've had evidence stashed away for years about him letting a civilian be a Staff Driver for him while he played his little 'games' with you," he said snidely, "I've been collecting evidence like that against him for a long time!" He jerked the drawings and paperwork out, glancing at them as she stopped up against the wall. He barked out a laugh.  
  
"Oh these are priceless! Drawings of me supposedly being somewhere I wasn't? Any artist could have done these! And what's this?" he looked over the paperwork and paused.  
  
Reva smiled coldly. "Not only can we place you at the party, we also have the evidence needed to prove you've been stealing from the Company and issuing orders for actions that are a little bit too suspicious to ignore," she whispered harshly.  
  
Masur shot her an ugly look, crumpling the papers in his hands.  
  
"Forgeries," he said flatly. "Control has always been out to eliminate his competition and everyone in this complex knows he's gotten so outdated that only the younger, more sophisticated personnel can out-do him. He knows I'm his only threat and will sink to all time lows to see to it I'm discredited." He leaned in closer to Reva, slapping his hand with the paperwork on the wall beside her head, causing her to jerk involuntarily away. He smiled sadistically.  
  
"And everyone in this complex will know." he said loudly for the group behind them to hear. "How you slept your way into your so-called position. Personally, I'd like to know which position suited the old man best? Flat on his back? With you riding on top? He wouldn't have the stamina to be the dominant partner. How much did it cost him? I can just bet you asked him for the moon for your services." He leered into her face. "Bet I wouldn't have to pay you at all, for services rendered. What do you say huh? I bet I could do things to you that would make you scream." Jason sniggered. "Then again you can't scream so I could just do things to you that would make you beg me for more." His other hand reached up to touch her throat.  
  
Reva's reaction was fast. He was already leaning towards her. Swift and hard she kneed him in the groin, shoving him to the right. Masur's mouth opened in an 'oh' of shock as she dodged past his arm. He began to sink to his knees as she bolted down the hallway.  
  
"Stop her!" Jason managed to croak out as he sank to the floor, slapping a hand against the wall as paper fell in a clutter around him. One hand slipped to his crotch as he let out an unearthly moan.  
  
In the crowd of shocked onlookers, the man who had left the office behind Masur suddenly made a lunge for Reva. She saw the movement and dodged in her flight, running past the elevators. Two other men suddenly appeared from nowhere further down the hall. Seeing the commotion, and Reva running, they immediately began rushing towards her.  
  
Reva skid to a stop, looking around her frantically, searching. She saw one door and dove for it. STAIRS stood out in bold black lettering.  
  
Mickey, hearing the tumult, glanced up in time to see Masur sinking to his knees and Reva beginning to run.  
  
"Shit." he breathed softly as he flipped the screwdriver around in his hands. He spotted the man in the crowd begin to break away from them, attempting to stop Reva as she darted past him. Mickey tucked in a shoulder, turned slightly and rammed himself hard into the man, knocking him sideways as his hand flashed down.  
  
He sunk the screwdriver deep into the man's thigh.  
  
Shoving him away hard, Mickey scrambled after Reva but saw her diving down the Stairs. Behind him the man he had stabbed was grabbing his leg and letting out a scream as Masur was scrambling to his feet. He began a painful limping run, one hand holding himself as the other slapped against the wall to keep upright.  
  
"Somebody stop her!" he yelled angrily, as he stumbled to the elevators. He stared in disbelief at the disabled car. "Sonofabitch!" he snarled suppressing another groan, as he slapped the button to call another car.  
  
Mickey, in the meantime, had confronted the other two men.  
  
"Go on!" One said to the other as he squared off with the scruffy looking elevator mechanic. He lunged towards Kostmayer, diverting his attention, as the other dove for the stairwell.  
  
It really wasn't a fair fight.  
  
As the other man jerked open the stair well door and plunged inside, Mickey just looked his opponent straight in the eye and smiled a cold, deadly smile.  
  
"Today's your lucky day," he said casually, standing up straight and relaxing his stance, dropping his hands. The other man ignored his comment and plowed on in. Mickey wasted no time. Brutal and fast, he spun around once in a roundhouse kick, planting his booted foot hard in to the man's solar plexus and knocked the wind clean out of him. Kostmayer was on him faster then anyone could blink. Wrestling him down to the floor, Mickey planted a knee into his back, pinning him down and began working his thumbs into the base of the man's neck.  
  
His victim barely had enough time to open his mouth to gasp for air as Mickey appeared to be choking him. However Kostmayer just drove his thumbs in deeper. Seconds later the man collapsed underneath him.  
  
"Just be glad I decided not to kill you." he muttered grabbing the back of the man's head and shoving his face back into the carpet. As he scrambled to his feet, he spotted Masur stumbling his way into the open elevator next to his disabled one, viciously stabbing at the button panel inside.  
  
"You might want to gag him," Mickey yelled to the shocked on lookers as he ran to the malfunctioning elevator car. "He's gonna wake up screaming." he scrambled through the hole leading to the top of his elevator, just as Masur's car dropped past his. Mickey grabbed a few cables and swung out into the darkness, let go and vanished from sight.  
  
Downstairs, in the parking garage, Robert and Control had sat in stony silence, waiting. At one point in time, Control had slipped a miniature receiver into his ear and was now able to hear everything that Reva's recorder was picking up. He had briefly rolled the window down, repositioning the rearview mirror on the passenger side of the car so that he could see what was happening behind them, which happened to catch a good view of the ramp leading down to their level. He even refrained from saying anything to the snort of amusement that came from Robert.  
  
He carefully rolled the window back up, stopping the cold air from coming in as he listened to what was happening. However, as he heard Mickey muttering something about the elevator not supposing to do something he spotted a large Lincoln Towncar, windows darkened, coming down the ramp. He was instantly opening his door.  
  
"Stay low, old son," he said to Robert. "One of my superiors just pulled in." He was out of the car in a flash as Robert looked at him in consternation.  
  
"Well isn't that just impeccable timing." he commented dryly as he reached over to shift the handle to his own rearview mirror.  
  
"It happens." Control replied, shutting the door. Slipping his hands into his pants pockets, he hunched his shoulders and began striding off towards the other car. Robert watched it stop in the middle of the parking garage as Control stepped up to the driver's side window, his back to the West Side elevators.  
  
Robert glanced that way, feeling edgy. He was persona non grata amongst the Company Hierarchy and they wouldn't be amused in the slightest if they knew a certain retiree was in the building. Still. Robert shifted, watching the elevator doors nervously. He glanced at Control, rolled the window down and listened.  
  
Control appeared to wiggling a finger in his ear as he half bent to talk to the people in the darkened Towncar.  
  
"Actually sir, he'd be the best one to send to Costa Rica." Control was saying. "His record of successful removals is unparalleled in the Company. He also just happens to be in DC," he paused, his head lifting, glancing towards the Stairs. Robert saw the direction his attention turned and looked towards the stairs; he immediately began slipping out of the car.  
  
Sticking to the support column, Robert maneuvered his way around, keeping the column between himself and the Towncar. He carefully positioned himself, keeping out of sight of both the elevator and the stairs. He pulled his Walther from out of his coat pocket and waited.  
  
"I'll let him know that you'd like him to go then, I'm sure he won't have any objections," Control was saying to the car's occupants. He was about to say something else, scratching at his ear when the door to the stairwell suddenly burst open.  
  
A small, out of breath figure darted out, running full tilt in the direction of the support column just as the elevator doors opened and revealed Masur stumbling out of the car, a look of fury written plainly all over his features. Seconds later another figure appeared, fairly exploding out of the stairwell door.  
  
"What the." Control started, turning in the direction of the fracas. The words were barely out his mouth as when Jason began running to cut Reva off from her escape. The other man reached her before Masur could. He had grabbed a fistful of her coat, jerking her backwards. Reva tried to scream.  
  
Hearing the person in the car speaking, Control looked up towards the elevator. Before the doors could fully close, a figure had dropped from the ceiling, shoving a foot into the door, forcing it to immediately reopen.  
  
Spinning Reva around roughly, the man had forced her arm up behind her back before grabbing a handful of long hair and jerking her head back. They all could see the pain as she tried to cry out. Only a pitiful gurgle emerged, followed by the sounds of her trying to cough. Jason slid to a stop in front of her, reaching up to grab her throat in one hand. The other lifted and flew. Reva's head snapped from the force of the blow  
  
"Go ahead, try to scream, no one can hear you!" Masur was growling as he backhanded her. He pulled Reva in close, snarling into her face. "Think you can try and pin me for stealing that Satellite Disc? Guess again! I personally destroyed all the paperwork to get it! Not to mention any evidence of that little meeting you had out on Highway 95!" He drew his arm back to hit her again.  
  
The resounding slap echoed across the garage as Control started to move forward, a look of utter fury darkening his features.  
  
Kostmayer, however, had suddenly bowled himself into the back of Masur, knocking all three of them past the support column.  
  
As they stumbled by, Robert dodged in, grasped Reva under one arm and pulled her to him as the man that held her tripped and fell backwards. Mickey pounced on Jason, his arm slipping around Masur's throat as he hauled him back away from Reva.  
  
Kostmayer's face had gone stone cold as he dragged Masur off his feet, his arm gripping tightly, feet kicking Masur's out from under him. Mickey worked his fingers into Masur's hair.  
  
"I've wanted to do this for so long," he hissed sibilantly into Jason's ear as he began to smile a frigid smile. "You've handed me your head on a platter!"  
  
Mickey ignored the sudden movement around him as he jerked Jason around, keeping the struggling man off balance. People were rushing into the melee, a few pouncing on the man who had fallen. Robert had pulled Reva to him, crouched protectively over her as she gasped for air, trying not to cough.  
  
"It's all right, It's all right." he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her. Reva sagged into him, trying to rein in her desperate panting.  
  
Jason had reached up to grab Mickey's arm with both his hands as he began to choke. He could feel Mickey shifting his grip, trying to tip his head.  
  
Control moved forward. Hearing the sound of a car door being opened, he glanced back to see a man's silhouette as he gripped the top of the door. Control raised a hand, motioning to the stranger to stay put, then he moved past the support column.  
  
He glanced at Robert, nodding quickly at the car. Robert saw the move and began lifting Reva to her feet.  
  
"Come with me, dear." he said gently, pulling her up. He half supported her as he jerked the rear door of their car open. He carefully guided her in, climbed inside after her and shut the door. He pulled her back into the protective circle of his arms, slipping a hand into his breast pocket for a clean handkerchief, as she struggled to regain her composure.  
  
Control looked back towards Mickey, seeing that Kostmayer was about to indulge himself in a long time desire. He almost hated what he had to do next.  
  
"Kostmayer!" he barked out, sharply.  
  
Ever the soldier, Mickey's head snapped up as several men fell in behind him, each brandishing weapons. Stock appeared from out of the gloom of the garage. Mickey paused.  
  
"As much as I might enjoy letting you finish what you've begun, there. I'm afraid I can't allow you the pleasure," Control said, looking coldly at the struggling Masur.  
  
"He tried to kill me! There's regulations against that!" Masur instantly began shouting. Stock walked past him, nodding at Mickey and holding up the papers that had fallen, forgotten, on the 12th floor. He walked past Control silently and delivered the papers to the man standing behind the open door of the Lincoln Towncar. Jacob leaned forward, speaking quietly and quickly to the stranger.  
  
Without a word, the silhouetted man took the papers and glanced at them, then nodded at Stock. He looked back at Control.  
  
"Let him go, Mickey." Control said gently, slipping the receiver out of his ear and holding it up. "We've got the evidence we need. Come on son, let him go."  
  
Mickey looked at his superior defiantly for a moment, then he snarled at Jason and shoved him away.  
  
Masur stumbled forward, gasping and gagging as he reached up to grasp his throat.  
  
"That's a clear violation of conduct!" Masur gasped as he righted himself. He looked towards a glowering Control and past him. He froze.  
  
The man at the car just looked at Jason for a few moments, then glanced at Stock. Stock nodded and two men immediately came forward, grabbing Jason by the arms.  
  
"Hey!" Masur protested. "What are you doing. You can't do this! This is all a set-up! Those papers are forgeries. What are you doing?" The two men began to drag Jason away. "Wait! It's a trick, it's one of Control's set- ups!" He looked at the man at the car.  
  
The silhouetted man said nothing, he just shook his head and climbed back into his car.  
  
"You can't do this! It's a set-up, they want to get rid of me! They're just jealous!" Masur began to struggle against his captors. He watched as the window to the car rolled up. The only thing now visible was Jason struggling against the grip of his captors reflected off the windows of the car.  
  
  
  
Control turned back towards Kostmayer. He reached up and stroked the corners of his mouth, sliding his other hand into a pocket and looking at him from beneath his lowered brow. Stock's men were hauling their other prisoner away as Control started to walk towards him.  
  
Mickey was drawing in a deep breath, shaking his shoulders loose. He looked up towards the car he had barely seen Robert get into and immediately began to head that way.  
  
"Mickey." Control's voice sounded out. Mickey ignored him, heading for the car as Control came to a stop almost in front of him.  
  
"Reva." Mickey said as he started to go around him. Control held up a hand, laying it squarely in the center of Mickey's chest. He looked him straight in the eyes.  
  
"I suggest you move that hand." Mickey said matching his gaze. Control held up a warning finger.  
  
"My superiors just gave me orders to send you to Costa Rica," he said slowly, softly, never breaking his gaze.  
  
"Bullshit," Mickey replied flatly.  
  
"They want the Herrera's plantations and all their operations irreparably shut down," Control murmured, never breaking his gaze.  
  
"Tough shit," Mickey started to walk past him, heading for the car.  
  
"Kostmayer." Control said simply. "It's not my request. It's their order."  
  
"Like hell it is!" Mickey shot back, he glanced up when he saw movement. Stock's men had never faded away like they were supposed to. Mickey glared at Control.  
  
"You son of a bitch." he hissed at him. "You've had this set up all along."  
  
"Think what you like, Kostmayer," Control said, looking at him. "I'm just following my orders."  
  
"Like hell," Mickey suddenly spat. "You've deliberately set this up!" He started towards the car again. Stock's men began to move forward. Control backed up with Mickey, blocking him from the car.  
  
"Forget it, Kostmayer," Control said coldly. "You have your orders. You will carry them out and you will not see Reva Cheney again."  
  
Mickey suddenly blew. An ugly snarl crossed his face as he spun on Control, grabbing the Company head by the lapels of his coat. Control didn't fight back. He just closed his eyes wearily, shaking his head.  
  
"Stupid!" he hissed at Mickey. "Stupid move!"  
  
"I don't know what the hell you're trying to do but if you think for one second you're going to succeed in keeping us apart? Guess again!" Mickey snapped. Several men swarmed around them, pulling Mickey away from Control.  
  
"Get your hands off of me!" Kostmayer yelled, jerking his arms away as Stock's men split the two up. Control straightened his coat, looking at Mickey sternly.  
  
"You better be damned glad he wasn't in here to see that, Kostmayer." Control replied coldly.  
  
"I could care less!" Mickey snapped, starting forward again.  
  
"Get a hold of yourself, Kostmayer!" Control growled back. "Before they send you someplace on a permanent basis!"  
  
Mickey just glared at the man started for the car again. Control nodded once and Stock's men began to reach out for him. Mickey stopped, looking at Control with a hard dangerous glint in his eyes. "You son of a bitch." he hissed as the men began to reach up to take his arms. He looked murderously at the closest man.  
  
"You either go with them willingly, Mickey, or they'll drag you out of here," Control said, resignedly. Mickey glared at him, his lip lifting in a snarl. He jerked his arm away from the nearest man.  
  
"Touch me and you'll lose that hand." he growled, never taking his eyes off Control. He pointed a warning finger at him. "You won't stop me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "If you think you're going to stop me from seeing her, guess again."  
  
"I have stopped you," Control replied softly. "You don't have much of a choice." His eyes flicked to the nearest man as he tipped his head.  
  
The two nearest men reached up and grabbed Mickey's arms as Control stepped back.  
  
"It's not going to work!" Mickey bellowed in rage as they started pulling him backwards. He began to struggle as they hauled him towards the elevators. Control just stood calmly in place.  
  
"An order is an order, Mickey." he said softly, his gaze growing a little sad as the men dragged Mickey towards the elevator.  
  
Stumbling and reluctant, trying to work his arms free from his 'captors', Mickey glared straight at Control.  
  
"It's not going to work! I'll find her!"  
  
Control didn't reply. He just stood, silently, in the middle of the parking garage and heaved a sigh.  
  
As the men pulled the struggling Mickey into the elevator, he saw movement from behind Control. Reva was scrambling out of the other side of the car. He felt himself suddenly sag in the men's grip as he watched her start to make her way past Control. She looked desperate, disheveled, and frightened. She was looking at him, trying to say his name. The look on her face spoke volumes, she had heard every word of their exchange.  
  
"Oh God, no." he breathed in horror, as Control reached out and caught her. The Company head pulled her back, gently grabbing both arms as she twisted frantically around to look his way. Helpless, Mickey could only watch as the elevator doors began to shut. For a few seconds he caught sight of Control, slowly closing his eyes, lowering his head as he held on to Reva's arms.  
  
Reva looked desperately towards Mickey, again trying to call out his name. The look of pleading and hopelessness in her eyes and face seared itself into his brain. As the doors drew shut, Mickey let out an angry yell of rage and anguish, jerking himself free from the men only to slam his fist helplessly against the implacable, cold, grey doors of the elevator.  
  
  
  
In the garage, men began to fade from sight, leaving Control to handle Reva. She was panting with exertion as she watched the elevator doors shut, sealing Mickey away.  
  
"No!" she gasped out, beginning to cough.  
  
"Reva!" Control snapped. She whirled around suddenly in his grip. Control looked down at her haggard features, appalled at the blue bruise forming itself at the corner of her mouth where a trickle of blood had dried. She saw the look in his eyes, the horror, the anger, the concern. She jerked her arms loose from his grasp. Shaking and bewildered, she glared at him.  
  
"I hate you," she hissed as Robert silently drew near. "I hate you!"  
  
"Reva." Robert said softly, as he gently reached out to take her arm in his hand. "Come with me."  
  
Involuntarily Reva stumbled his direction, never taking her eyes off Control who held his hands up in an almost placating gesture. A weary mask was settling across his features as Robert drew her away.  
  
"I hate you!" she repeated. "I hate your guts!"  
  
"Reeve." Control barely murmured, closing his eyes in anguish.  
  
"I hate you!" she whispered harshly, looking at him as Robert led her back to the car.  
  
"You'll never understand." Control whispered softly as Robert opened the door to the car. Her hands suddenly flew up.  
  
"I understand only too well!" she signed viciously.  
  
Control looked at her, a flash of remorse appearing on his face. He flicked his gaze at Robert who was regarding him steadily. He didn't have to say anything.  
  
"Reva, please." Robert said gently. "Sit down." She glared a little longer at Control, then looked at Robert.  
  
McCall watched the hopelessness fill her grey eyes as she looked at him and, strangely, a very familiar mask dropped across her features. Robert hid the frown that threatened to cross his own face. She was closing her eyes, reaching up to touch the cut on her lip. Robert felt like he was watching a balloon slowly deflate. Dropping her head, Reva slowly climbed into the car. Carefully Robert shut the door, then he straightened and looked at Control. The man stood like a statue, not moving once, his cold impervious mask securely set back in place.  
  
Robert's look of contempt wasn't lost on Control. He just gazed at Robert a moment. "Kostmayer won't be harmed," he murmured softly. Robert's lips set in a disgusted smirk.  
  
"I think enough harm has been done already," he replied caustically, his voice acidic. Control closed his eyes. "And there's no telling what harm Kostmayer will do to himself!"  
  
Robert went around the front of the car, opened the door and slid behind the wheel. Even as he started the car and backed it out of the space, Control never moved. As Robert gained the ramp leading out of the place, he looked back in his rearview mirror.  
  
Control remained standing alone in the garage, only now his head hung down in despair.  
  
End of Part 4  
  
Part 5  
  
  
  
  
  
It was a long drive back to New York City. The winter weather didn't help and the passenger in his car had suddenly crawled away to somewhere deep inside herself. Robert kept a wary eye on her as he took her back to his apartment. Not once had Reva broken down; she had just turned into a silent, small statue.  
  
He explained gently that he couldn't return her home straight away until he got word that the situation in Bath had been settled and it was safe for her to return. Reva accepted his news stoically.  
  
The pent up anger he felt never abated as he watched the life slowly seep out of the girl. Try as he might to get her to talk about the entire turn of events, Reva refused. Robert felt as though a switch had been turned off in the girl and nothing could be done to get it turned back on again. He finally settled into reluctance acceptance of her silence, he knew it a little too well.  
  
Three days after the events in DC, Jacob Stock appeared at Robert's door. McCall stepped out into the hallway, gently easing the door shut, and looked sternly up at the tall, gaunt figure. Jacob raised a slight eyebrow as he looked at Robert.  
  
"Can't deliver his own messages?" Robert snapped. Jacob sighed.  
  
"He's on his way to Verhojansk," Jacob replied. He knew he had to face an irate McCall and the idea wasn't pleasant.  
  
"Northern Siberia?!" Robert snarled in disbelief. Jacob nodded.  
  
"Masur's been reassigned," Jacob replied softly. Robert looked at the man. Both knew the heavy implications which lay behind such a simple statement. Jacob continued.  
  
"The situation in Bath has been settled. Miss Cheney can go home."  
  
"And Kostmayer?" Robert asked.  
  
Jacob paused, looking at Robert soberly. "He's missing."  
  
"What?" Robert's voice cracked like whip. Jacob barely hid his flinch.  
  
"He is missing, Robert."  
  
"I refuse to believe Kostmayer's gone AWOL! What the hell happened?" he demanded.  
  
"He's not AWOL, Robert. He completed his assignment. Kostmayer is a mean son of bitch, you know? He abandoned the guy he was supposed to partner with when he got to Costa Rica. He loaded up his own equipment and took out his target as he was ordered to do.and a little bit more than was required. In the mayhem, he disappeared."  
  
"Disappeared?" Robert snapped. Jacob scrunched his shoulders together as if that would help ward off Robert's caustic inquiries.  
  
"He was last seen driving a jeep off the compound property. It was found several days later in Golfito. Nobody has seen or heard from him since. We think he slipped over the border into Panama."  
  
"You think," Robert said sourly.  
  
"I'm just telling you what we know, Robert."  
  
"Cold comfort!" Robert shot back. Then he closed his eyes, slipped his thumb and middle finger up under his glasses and pinched at the bridge of his nose. He rubbed gently before dropping his hand and sighing. "What the hell am I supposed to tell that girl inside?" he groused out loud.  
  
"Control wanted me to let you know he'll be at Pete's on Thursday," Jacob said softly.  
  
"All right," Robert replied and nodded his head "Go on, Stock, I know you're just being sent as the messenger."  
  
"Kostmayer's too ornery to get himself killed." Jacob started  
  
"I know more about Kostmayer than everyone in the Company combined, Jacob," Robert replied tartly, turning towards the door. "His ability to self destruct would stagger any one of us." He waved Stock away.  
  
"Go on, Jacob, I'm sure Control's got something better for you to do than playing errand boy." He opened the door and left Stock alone in the hallway.  
  
  
  
The weather remained cold, grey and continued to threaten snow. Robert opted to return Reva home by plane. He picked up a rental car in Bangor and drove her to Wiscasett. He had told her before leaving New York, that Mickey was missing. Reva had taken the news without a flicker of emotion. She now sat in the car with him, silently staring out the window.  
  
At her request, they had stopped at the post office to pick up her nearly two weeks of backlogged mail, then at the vet's to pick up Toby. Robert had gone inside for the cat, determined to have a few words with Laskar, only to find that the vet had taken a week's hunting vacation.  
  
Two sets of tire tracks marred the smooth evenness of the snow leading down her street and into her driveway. Parked in front of the garage sat the old truck, wearing a mantle of white. Reva only shook her head in disgust as she climbed out of the rental car and looked at it.  
  
She juggled the load of mail with the cat carrier as Robert retrieved her one piece of luggage out of the trunk of the car. It carried the few things she had gathered for herself while she waited to be allowed home.  
  
Once inside, she deposited the mail on the bar counter, set the carrier on the kitchen floor and released Toby. Robert set her suitcase in the hall, then entered the great room, gazing around at the drawings on the wall. Reva stood in the kitchen, looking critically around.  
  
Reva's home had been thoroughly cleaned for her. Robert could smell the fresh clean scents as he turned and glanced at the fireplace. Several logs had been arranged to start a fire with. The temperature was comfortable. Someone had been in the house very recently, if only to have the place cleaned and ready for her return. Robert heaved a sigh and glanced at her.  
  
A slight smirk of disgust had settled on her features as she looked things over. She met Robert's gaze and nodded slightly, before coming around and moving over to her dining room table. She stared down at her drawings, rough drafts, sketches, pens and pencils. She carefully fingered through them and he could see she was mentally ticking each one off, accounting for their presence. She sighed as she finished and looked at Robert.  
  
"Tea?" she whispered. He smiled slightly.  
  
"Tea would be fine, dear," he said, gazing at her. "Are you sure you don't want me staying over? Thanksgiving is the week after next you realize? You are more then welcome to come to New York and join my family. "  
  
"I'll be fine, Robert," she whispered softly, heading back into her kitchen. "Now that I'm home. Spending the holiday's alone is something of a tradition now."  
  
Yet there was something empty in her words.  
  
He stayed long enough for lunch and, out of courtesy, Reva explained to him the beginning-to-end process of what it took to illustrate a book. Robert watched her as she showed him the entire layout for 'Ring of Bright Water' and couldn't help but see the sadness creeping in as she stared at the otter drawings.  
  
She finally explained that she had gotten the actual drawings from the creature that had visited Wiscasett the previous summer. Robert understood. Mickey had been there at the time.  
  
Finally, as the clouds turned the day grey and gloomy, Robert took his leave with a promise to call when he got back. He explained how his phone and answering machine were TTY compatible, due to the nature of his business. Reva accepted it quietly, seeing him to the door. Before leaving, Robert gently took her in his arms, reminding her again that he would maintain contact, despite anything Control had to say about it. Reva nodded.  
  
"And don't forget," Robert said, as he climbed into the rental car. "I expect you to come visit whenever you are in New York."  
  
Reva smiled wanly and nodded her head yes, then watched as he drove away.  
  
  
  
As the day's light began to wane, Reva lit the fire, drew the curtains closed and stood for a moment gazing at the drawings on the table. She never felt so empty and alone in her life. She glanced at the pile of mail still sitting on the counter and wandered over, poking idly through the stack. A card caught her eye.  
  
She pulled out a postcard, moving towards the fireplace and frowning as she stared at a sea otter bobbing contentedly in a bed of kelp. The creature held his fuzzy, yellow-white head in his paws and was comically yawning. Reva felt her entire body go numb. She stared at the picture, then flipped it over.  
  
Scrawled across the back were the words. "Job got boring. Expect me soon." It was signed, "Mickey."  
  
She never realized she had sunk to her knees, she just stared at the card, the writing, the signature, the message. Scenes began to replay through her head. Their meeting, their walks on the beach, the cookouts.  
  
A shaking hand slid its way across her mouth as the first whimper escaped her lips. It was like a floodgate finally opening. Nothing she did could stop it. The sobs began to come forth, hard and wracking. Relentlessly, the pictures of Mickey flashed across her memories. Like a wounded animal, the cries broke forth as Reva curled in a ball on the floor. The card dropped, forgotten.  
  
Reva sobbed.  
  
Only Toby was there to see Reva as she slowly fell apart. The only thing the big tabby could do was arch his back and rub his head lovingly between her shoulders.  
  
  
  
End of Part 5  
  
Epilogue  
  
Somewhere Near Verhojansk, Cherski Mountains, Eastern Siberia  
  
Control sat back in his seat and tried to ignore the vibrations of the Russian helicopter as it slowly settled to the ground. He waited until the crew had secured the craft, then pulled the headphones off and climbed out. A few words in Russian to the pilot told him he wasn't going to be long and to keep the helicopter warmed up. The pilot nodded.  
  
Control wrapped the long, wool, coat tighter around him, borrowed from a Russian Officer no doubt. Control wouldn't have been able to get this far into the country if he hadn't been able to pass himself off as military. A tug on the scarf completely hid his lower face and the thick Russian hat did much to make him unrecognizable. He was tired, and his head ached ferociously. Now he had flown from Juneau, to a US battleship which had allowed a Russian Chopper to land on its deck to pick up both himself and a special cargo, then they flew to their present location. Somewhere high in the frigid Soviet Siberian Ranges. The cold knifed through him as he stepped out of the helicopter.  
  
Some incredible moving and shaking had occurred to bring the man to his present location. He was only too aware that he was in an incredibly dangerous place and if one word got out of his presence.  
  
As he set foot on the ground he looked right, to where two Russian guards were hauling a stumbling man out of the cargo hold. They had provided the man with American clothing, gloves, hat, and a thick Parka. Almost immediately the man's voice was cutting through the air like fingernails down a blackboard.  
  
"I want to know what you're doing! There are laws against this, you know. Violations against the Geneva Convention. And how do I know you're really Russian? This could be some enormous trick of Control's to make me think you've hauled me to Russia or something."  
  
Control's hard blue eyes almost rolled in disgust as he jerked his head towards a pair of men standing at the far edge of the thick trees. The two Guards practically picked up their prisoner and hauled him towards the trees. Another man materialized alongside Control, carrying a metal briefcase.  
  
"This is highly unusual sir," the man said to him in English. Control smiled thinly under the scarf and nodded.  
  
"But quite necessary," he replied in Russian.  
  
"Your position here is very dangerous," the other reminded.  
  
"I have faith in your attention to detail, Sergei. You will be handsomely rewarded for the effort you've taken to arrange this gathering. Rest assured, you will not be left uncompensated." Control replied.  
  
The other man nodded, knowing he would indeed be paid handsomely for what was about to happen. For several minutes, nobody said anything, just fighting to stay warm in the subfreezing cold of Siberia in Winter. The snow was thick and frozen.  
  
As they entered the trees, Sergei shook his head and glanced at Control. The prisoner had never ceased his talking, telling his captors they'd be sorry for messing with someone with the connections that he had.  
  
"Does this Yankee ever shut up?"  
  
"He will shortly," Control replied.  
  
A few minutes later the party came to a halt and the prisoner was released, being shoved forward by his two guards. He stumbled towards a very small, ill-kept shack. He looked up as the two guards faded towards the trees. They blended in, as several more men appeared in the gloom, many holding AK-47's. The prisoner looked around and laughed.  
  
"Oh how very theatrical! I suppose you think this is going to frighten me? It smack's of Control plotting revenge, how very gratuitous of him. Whatever he's paid you? I can double. I have connections, clear into the White House," he shivered against the cold, hugging his arms to himself as Control and Sergei appeared amongst the men.  
  
"This has to be the most blatant of clichés. So very old-fashioned of him. Where are we, the backwoods of Kentucky? With his hirelings acting like Russians? I know he has the power to pull off that kind of deception."  
  
Sergei looked at Control and raised an eyebrow. Control merely shrugged and nodded at the metal case. Sergei lifted it and snapped open the locks. Inside, lay a Government issue .45 and a letter. Control pulled his gloves off slowly while the prisoner looked around him, still spouting off his mouth. He picked up the gun, jacked the slide back to check and see if a single bullet was in the chamber. Satisfied he then picked up the letter and walked forward.  
  
"He doesn't even have the guts to come out here and do the job himself," the prisoner chuckled, then saw the man approaching. He laughed at him. "Who are you supposed to be? The executioner?"  
  
Control heaved a quiet sigh, slipped the letter into the hand that held the gun and reached up to pull down the scarf from his face.  
  
Jason Masur stared at Control for a fraction of a second, then began to giggle.  
  
"You are too rich! You are so funny! You think this is frightening me? This is just your idea of revenge! Do you think for a minute that I am going to fall down on my knees and be afraid of you? I'm made of sterner stuff than that, Old Man."  
  
"Jason," Control said, close enough now to Masur to where only they could hear each other. "Shut up."  
  
Masur only giggled, shivering at the cold.  
  
"You've really stooped. When my connections find out what you're doing, you are history. There's no way you are getting away with this."  
  
"Oh yes, I am getting away with this," Control replied easily. He handed the letter to Jason.  
  
"What's this? Something that's supposed to make me shake in fear of you? Try another stoolie. I'm not that scared. I'm too amused at your comic opera execution squad." Jason jerked his chin at the surrounding ring of silent, armed watchers.  
  
"They aren't the execution squad," Control replied. "As for that," he nodded at the letter he held out to Jason. "This is from my superiors, it's for you. They wanted me to deliver it."  
  
Jason stared at the envelope. He began to laugh again.  
  
"You? A delivery boy? Now that is funny! The great head of the Northern and Southern Hemispheres, delivering messages from the Company Chiefs?" He snatched the letter from Control's fingers and tore it open. "I've lived to see the day when they start taking you down a notch or two." His eyes began to scan the letter.  
  
Impassively, Control only watched as Masur slowly stopped, his face suddenly going pale as realization settled in..  
  
"You see." Control said calmly, lifting the gun and snapping the slide back in place with a resounding metallic clack. "I have to follow orders too," he smiled coldly as Jason looked at him, his face blank with shock.  
  
"You have messed with Yellow coded agents once too often. Your designation has been changed to Red. Reva was wearing a recorder when you admitted to destroying the evidence of stealing a Global Positioning Device later found in her truck."  
  
Jason laughed again. "So this is a Keystone Cop execution squad! And you expect me to be scared of you?! I'm laughing in your face old man!"  
  
"They aren't the execution squad," Control replied patiently. Jason sniggered.  
  
"Then it's got to be you! How apropos."  
  
"I'm not either," Control replied, as a small cold smile settled on his lips. Jason only giggled.  
  
"We're in the Soviet Siberian Ranges, Jason. They're expecting a blizzard here in the next six hours. The cold up here is brutal and slow. A man can take several days to die." Control replied conversationally.  
  
"I am just shaking in my shoes," Jason contemptuously replied.  
  
"You're being given several choices. You can either hide in that shack there with no food, water, or fuel and try to survive as long as possible. The temperatures will plunge into the minus figures with wind-chill factors even lower then that. The blizzards are world famous for their ability to freeze a man in a matter of hours. Just look at what they can do to a woolly mammoth. You'll die of hypothermia, raving like a mad man before you go," Control continued on, slow and hypnotic, quickly getting the desired effect from Masur. The man stopped mocking him and began to listen to his words.  
  
"Or you can try to hike out of this place and make for the nearest city. That would be Verhojansk, 250 miles north west of here. There you'll face arrest as an American spy in Soviet Russia, alone in a remote section of the mountains with no friends, no contacts, and no connections to lean on. You'll be caught, sentenced, and left to die in a Russian Gulag. The American consulates have been told you no longer exist and are to act accordingly. I needn't remind you what a death is like in a Gulag, do I?" He looked inquisitively at him.  
  
"Or." Control continued. "You can die like a man," he lifted the gun. "This has one bullet and all it will take is one quick, clean, shot." Control reversed the weapon and held it out butt first to Jason. His smile became colder and even more sinister as his eyes drilled into the other man's.  
  
"So you see. They aren't going to be your executioners and I am not going to have the pleasure of wiping you off the face of the earth," He reached out and grabbed Jason's hand and forced him to take the gun.  
  
"You are going to be your executioner. It's going to be your choice."  
  
Control abruptly turned away, his eyes locking with Sergei's as he began purposefully striding away from Masur.  
  
Masur stood there, rendered speechless, and stared at the gun like a calf looking at a new gate. For a long pause he stared at it then lifted his eyes towards the retreating figure of Control. With a snarl, Jason hefted the gun, aimed and pulled the trigger.  
  
Gunshots sounded out from the group of Russians standing amidst the trees and Jason's right leg suddenly blew out from under him sending him crashing to the permafrost with a look of shocked surprise on his face. Still not quite registering pain, he looked down at his leg and blinked at the sodden red mass that should have been his knee. He looked to his left where the gun had spun out of his hands, seeing the smoke curling away from the end of the barrel. Another look and he watched Control walking away into the gloom as the Russians around him began to fade one by one into the trees.  
  
Realizing his shot had missed its target, Jason began to feel the pain seep through his shocked senses.  
  
"They're under orders not to kill you, Jason," Control's voice floated back to him.  
  
"Wait," he croaked. "You can't just leave me here." An unnatural shaking seized him. "You can't just leave me like this!"  
  
"Coward." One of the Russians said as they disappeared like wraiths.  
  
Control walked past Sergei, who slipped his own pistol away into his coat pocket. Sergei looked at the strange man who was calmly pulling his gloves back on. Behind them Jason began to laugh, a strange hysterical sound followed by a scream of rage.  
  
"You knew he was going to fire at you, didn't you?" Sergei asked. Control only nodded.  
  
"I did give him a choice." he responded softly. Behind them they could hear the sounds of Masur yelling and screaming in helpless fury. Control glanced at Sergei.  
  
"And he chose..." he replied.  
  
  
  
New York City, four days later.  
  
Near midnight, Robert parked his Jaguar in front of Pete O'Phelan's restaurant, climbed out, habitually looked around and gently shut the door.  
  
He found that Control had got in ahead of him and sat at their favorite spot near the back, by the great fireplace. He appeared to be half way through a bottle that sat on the table with two glasses. He was stretched out, leaning back in the chair, tie loosened, and looked up at Robert as he approached.  
  
"Control." Robert greeted, studying him a moment.  
  
"Robert."  
  
"Decided to start without me? Have you eaten, as well?" Robert asked, pulling his overcoat off and neatly folding it before draping it across a convenient chair. Control only nodded slightly in amusement as Robert shook his head at him.  
  
"I just got here a few minutes ahead of you," Control replied easily. Robert pulled out a chair and raised an eyebrow at the half-empty bottle. "And no, I haven't ordered dinner yet."  
  
"So I see." Robert replied dryly, sitting down. He set his arms on the table, clasped his fingers together and looked at the agency head. Control gazed balefully back at him.  
  
"What would you like to know first Robert?" Control asked, opening up the conversation. Robert raised an eyebrow and looked thoughtful a moment.  
  
"All of it. I want to hear all of it. I want to know who the girl is, why you created a fake family for her, why her medical records are gone and why you are so keen to keep Kostmayer away from her." Robert looked steadily at him. ".and I want the truth." he added.  
  
For a very long time Control didn't reply then he sighed gently and glanced at Robert.  
  
"She's my niece," he muttered softly. "My little sister's only child."  
  
Robert felt understandably thunderstruck at first, he had been expecting something along this line but for Control to actually admit to him that he had family. then he paused to consider the night on the dock when Control had told him photographic memories ran in the family.  
  
"Your niece?" he asked gently. Control looked at him through his thick brow, his face inscrutable, eyes a dark, stormy blue.  
  
"My little sister and her husband were killed in a car accident when Reva was three weeks old. That part of her life is true," Control replied and knocked back the liquid in his drink. He looked at Robert again. "I was her only relation."  
  
"You are her only relation," Robert corrected. Control heaved a sigh, reached up to rub his eyes, and nodded.  
  
"Yes, I am," he responded. He gathered his thoughts together. "Understandably there was no way I could  
  
take in a baby, so I arranged for Thornton Cheney and his wife to take her in. Cheney was a good friend, he and his wife were childless, and I needed to get Reva as far away from me and my poisonous life as possible," he smiled slightly at Robert. "So I waved my magic wand and created a family for her. I could never allow myself to get close to her, Robert. Not like you can with Scott and Yvette. It's far too dangerous."  
  
"So why did you allow her to enter into Company circles?" Robert asked back, a thin line of disapproval settling in on his lips. Control smirked, his head bobbing slightly in amusement.  
  
"Think of it Robert, she forged her way, literally, into my car. At first I didn't realize who she was until I began noticing the mistakes she was making. I was preoccupied, doing business, but when I did notice I got a good look at her and I realized my niece was driving me around town. It was such an astonishing thing that I simply let her go while I worked out what I was going to do about it. That's when I discovered she carried the family talent."  
  
A long pause settled between them, then Robert asked softly, "How could you involve her, Control?"  
  
Control sighed.  
  
"I wanted to get to know her, Robert. I had the chance and opportunity to see her up close without her having any idea of who I am. She's smart, Robert, pretty, so full of life. Cheney and his wife did wonders with her. She was dead set on getting on with the publishing house to illustrate children's books. I sort of helped push that along as I nudged that talent of ours into a few, useful directions. She was eager to learn more, she didn't even realize everything that can be done, so I helped her along." Control's voice slowly faded as he looked back at Robert's critical eyes.  
  
"It was the most hideous mistake I have ever made."  
  
Robert lips curled slightly in disgust as he studied Control, but he bit back his comment, seeing the memories drift across the man's face.  
  
"The night she was attacked. Jason managed to slip Robbins into the security detail. I had kept my eye on him, and I knew of his previous encounters with Reeve. He wanted somehow to disgrace her. The security was there to make sure that nothing happened to her. I was there myself to make absolute certain. However, Robbins conveniently vanished when Reva emerged from the lounge. I had no idea she had gone in there to draw Ismail's face. By then it was too late. The wife had alerted his agents and they began separating her from the crowd. I realized they were culling her out and began to make my way towards her."  
  
Control paused again, frozen a moment as he relived the night in question.  
  
"The woman broke the carafe' and had just swung at her when I came in behind Reva, my men moved in as I grabbed for Reva's throat. The glass had nicked the jugular vein. I had to pinch the nick closed, but she was losing blood so fast and I knew that Reeve and I shared the same blood type," he looked up at Robert.  
  
"I had them do a direct transfusion while we rushed for the Agency hospital. I couldn't take my hand from her throat until they could get a hemostat in to keep the jugular intact. She was losing a lot of blood, she began to choke, they had to do a tracheotomy." his voice trailed off. "By that time I was the only thing keeping her alive."  
  
A strange calm settled over Control like a mantle.  
  
"She nearly died that night. The damage to her throat, her neck, her voice, losing so much blood." he shook his head. "It was terrible." He grew silent. "I sat with her for two days. she was oblivious to anyone's presence. By the time she began to come around I had already planned what I had to do to get her out of my life and away from me. I arranged the therapy, the purchase of the house in Wiscasett, the contacts in the publishing company, the disappearance of her medical records, everything. Then I got myself as far away from her as I could."  
  
"That still doesn't answer the question of why, Control." Robert said quietly. "Why did you allow her to get near you in the first place?"  
  
Control looked at Robert and didn't reply for a long time, when he did, he softly responded,  
  
"I envied you, old son. I envied you. You had the guts and the courage to make a relationship work with your children, even when they were grown adults. Even knowing how hideously dangerous it is to have personal family ties in the business we're in. I've watched you, watched Scott and Yvette. Hell, Yvette I even treated like she was my own. I had completely removed Reva from my life and when she suddenly came across my path, Robert, I had to know. I had to try. She's my only flesh and blood. For a full year I got the chance to know her and in one split second and with my own personal selfishness, I lost it all."  
  
Control sat forward, poured himself another snifter full, then rested his forearms across the table. He looked at Robert and said quietly. "I had to try, Robert."  
  
McCall only looked back at him with distaste mingled with a sympathetic understanding.  
  
"So for four years, she's been living the life of a recluse in Maine. Alone, frightened and knowing someone is constantly watching her house. Knowing you had set it all up for her. What kind of a life is that? No one to talk to, no friends, nothing, " Robert pointed out.  
  
"She's become very successful." Control murmured. "She won the Caldecott Award two years ago, a very prestigious award, Robert. She's gained a good reputation in her company and has the choice of what commissions she takes on. I just learned the other night that her ' Flying Dutchman' has already sold out it's first printing and they're scheduling a 2nd and a 3rd. There's talk she'll be nominated for a Caldecott again."  
  
"Winning awards is worthless, Control, when stacked up against a life of loneliness and despair. That kind of thing eats away at the heart, the soul, and the mind. You've given her a padded, well supplied, prison and she's also grown to hate you for it." Robert pointed out.  
  
"I know that." Control replied.  
  
For a long time, Robert simply stared at him and mulled over what he had learned. Control said nothing more.  
  
"And what about Kostmayer?" Robert asked.  
  
Control rolled his eyes slightly, closed them and sighed. He took a swallow of his drink, his shoulders slumping. "What about Kostmayer?"  
  
"He's still among the missing, I assume, as no word has reached me otherwise."  
  
"He's thumbing his nose at me," Control growled. "He's still alive, Robert. He was very careful to pack his duffel before he vanished. I suspect he's somewhere in Mexico by now and heading home. He just left that jeep in Golfito to make us think he'd gone into Panama."  
  
"It's no wonder he'd go and do something like that!" Robert replied bitterly. "Any chance he might have had at finding some measure of happiness in his dreary life has been ruined, no thanks to you. Not that the chances were good in the first place. You and I both know that relationships and Company work don't mix."  
  
"I needed to do something to keep him in line."  
  
"And what about Reva?" Robert snapped. "I don't think that girl has spoken more then a dozen words since this rotten business concluded. She's about to crack behind those self-imposed walls. She looked like a ghost when I told her Mickey was missing."  
  
"She'll be all right." Control murmured. "And so will Kostmayer, when he resurfaces."  
  
Robert heaved a sigh. "He likes the girl, Control. I have warned him, repeatedly, about not getting involved with anyone. I am, however, talking myself blue in the face. He's adamant about seeing her again, despite what I say. And to be involved with someone in Company circles." Robert shook his head.  
  
Control glanced up at Robert and hid the slight smile on his lips by taking another sip from his snifter.  
  
"The last thing I want to see is either one of them getting hurt. Reva's been hurt enough as it is, but Kostmayer's involvement is just going to make things worse, especially knowing they won't be allowed to stay together. No matter what I say to him to get him to see reason, I'm afraid it's going to have the opposite effect. He will find her again. no matter what you and I do to try and stop them." Robert continued rambling.  
  
To Robert's surprise, Control very softly began to chuckle. He slowly sat back in his chair, holding the snifter, swirling the dark liquid around in it. The self-satisfied smile on his face caused Robert to look at him and frown. Control saw it and gently began to laugh in earnest.  
  
"You are absolutely perfect, old son." Control murmured to him, beginning to smile in delight.  
  
"What?!" Robert barked.  
  
"You've added the icing to the cake, Robert. Rather well, I might add," Control sipped from his glass again, his blue eyes twinkling in mischief.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Robert demanded.  
  
Control continued to chuckle. "Simple reverse psychology, Robert. Even you ought to know how that works," he smiled outright at the look on Robert's face, his entire face brightened from its normal coldness.  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Robert snapped.  
  
"If I told you, you could no longer see Yvette? What would you do?"  
  
"I'd tell you to go to hell and see her anyway!" Robert instantly responded. Control nodded, smiling like a self-satisfied cat.  
  
"You've told Kostmayer not to see Reva and what do you think he's going to do?"  
  
"He'll see her again," Robert growled, shooting a glare at Control. The other man nodded, looking into his glass.  
  
"I've told him exactly the same thing, several times, and I know what he's going to do," he replied and glanced up at Robert, his eyes full of mischief. Robert glared back.  
  
"You mean to tell me." McCall began to speak. Control only laughed.  
  
"Who do you think suggested he go fishing in Wiscasett in the first place, Robert?"  
  
  
  
Aside from the rattling in the kitchen, a pin could have dropped in the dining room and been heard as Robert glared at Control.  
  
"You've planned this entire fiasco all along?!" Robert erupted. "That girl has been assaulted twice, and has had to kill someone at your." Robert began to erupt. Control raised a hand to stop him.  
  
"Oh I had my hand in it, I just didn't expect Masur to get himself involved like he did, then Kostmayer taking her from the hospital wasn't exactly part of the script but that turned out to my advantage, as well. The more you tell Kostmayer 'no' the more he's likely to do it anyway. kind of like someone else I know. I couldn't bear the idea of Reeve staying in that house by herself any longer," he drained his glass again and winked at Robert.  
  
"Reeve is about the only single girl left in town, I just played my cards right and hoped like hell Kostmayer would run into her. It worked." Control shrugged, smiling in satisfaction.  
  
"Are you out of your mind!?" Robert demanded.  
  
"It's perfect, Robert. Reeve has someone she's interested in and Kostmayer's one of my best, if most unpredictable, field agents. Who better to look out after her? I'll still have my hand in her safety, and Kostmayer won't rot away in that uh. cave he calls a home. They're well suited, both like the outdoors and both are lonely. It's perfect."  
  
"It absolutely insane!" Robert bit back. His reaction only spurred Control to laugh some more.  
  
"So long as I keep telling Kostmayer to stay away, I know Reva will be well looked after. I just have to jerk on Kostmayer's chain every now and again." He smiled at Robert.  
  
"One of these days he's going to bite you back!" Robert snapped.  
  
"Oh I've handled worse than Kostmayer in my lifetime, just look at yourself, old son."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
Control continued his mirth. "Come down off your mountain, Robert. Do you think I'm so heartless that I would abandon Reva completely? I know I'm responsible for her present condition, but that doesn't mean I stopped caring for the girl. I just can't be involved in it like you can with Scott and Yvette. Having Kostmayer involved gives me a little more security in knowing the girl is safe, and with Laskar there to keep an eye on things." Control smiled, satisfied. "I can keep the lid on two problems at the same time."  
  
"It's bloody well reprehensible." Robert started in, Control only continued to laugh. Robert's lips pursed in disgust. " And what do you intend on telling them? Do you plan on telling Reva you are her only relation? And what if Mickey finds out?"  
  
Control only smiled mysteriously. "They aren't going to find out, old son, least of all, from me. For Reva's sake it's the safest course possible that she know absolutely nothing about me. As for Kostmayer, it gives me a measure of control over the boy, he's getting a little too unorthodox. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but when he uses it against me." He raised an eyebrow at Robert and smirked.  
  
"That is the most despicable." Robert continued. Control sat forward, chuckling still.  
  
"Enough Robert!" he protested. "Let's order dinner and I'll tell you more, by the time I'm done, you'll be seeing things like I do. you always do in the end you know," he winked again.  
  
All Robert could do was glare back at him in disgust, knowing eventually that Control would be right.  
  
  
  
Wiscasett, Maine, Early December.  
  
(Three weeks after the incidents in Wash. DC.)  
  
  
  
Dr. Richard Laskar shrugged his way into his heavy jacket and sighed. A glance out the window leading to the alleyway behind the vet's office revealed that it had started snowing again. They were in for a rough winter as this had been the third snowfall since.  
  
Laskar paused. Since Reva Cheney had been found unconscious by her truck in late October. He shuddered. To this day he regretted his involvement in the Company. He had totally dropped out as a young man and decided on vet school. Yet even now, they never let him forget that he had been an employee at one time. Never to retire. Laskar sighed, shutting out the last of the lights and heading for the back door. He had worked late, was tired and anticipating a nice warm home.  
  
It was pitch dark outside by 7 o'clock in the evening. Laskar braced himself against the cold as he let himself out and turned to the door, locking it. His breath could be seen in the chill air and he glanced towards the only street light, illuminating the parking lot and the street sign. His was the only vehicle left in the lot. Snow lazily whirled down in tiny flakes, adding itself to the minute layers. He shivered.  
  
Not exactly a native to Wiscasett, Laskar often wondered about the street sign marking the little road behind the vet's office.  
  
"Shin Bone Aly," he muttered under his breath as he made his way towards his truck. "Can't even spell it right." He glanced down as he walked and flipped through his key ring for the truck key. He never saw the low, fast movement of a large figure from the shadows on his left. He suddenly found himself stumbling right, as a hefty weight slammed into him, propelling him into the wall of the building opposite.  
  
Things went black as he felt an arm snake around his chest while fingers grabbed a handful of hair, jerking his head back. With his face in the bricks, Laskar felt his feet get kicked out from under him, forcing his balance into the wall, then the man shifted and forced his hip into the small of Laskar's back.  
  
Whatever had happened to his Company training?  
  
"I don't have anything!" he managed to shout out in fear as his assailant let go of his hair and forced his left arm up hard behind his back. Laskar was suddenly aware that the arm across his chest had a hand holding a knife in it. He gasped in alarm as the blade snicked out, flashing in the dim light of the deserted street, almost in front of his eyes.  
  
"Good thing." A man's low, husky voice growled, right next to his ear. Laskar's eyes squeezed shut a moment as he realized he was no match for the person pinning him to the wall.  
  
"I've got no money on me, nothing!"  
  
"I'm not after your money," the voice growled.  
  
Laskar, panting in fright, frowned in confusion and opened his eyes. He sucked in a shuddering breath as he felt the blade of the knife slowly begin stroking the exposed jugular vein on his neck. The man behind him smiled coldly.  
  
"Remember me?" he whispered in Laskar's ear.  
  
"No!" Laskar nearly shouted. The sinister laugh that followed sent a chill of utter terror through Laskar.  
  
"You will now." the voice replied.  
  
Laskar suddenly found himself being spun around and slammed back into the wall. He held up both arms, showing he had nothing as his assailant kicked his feet out from the wall. A black gloved hand grabbed his throat while the other began to stroke the knife blade along his jaw line.  
  
Eyes squeezed shut, Laskar shook in fright.  
  
"What do you want?" he nearly screamed in panic.  
  
"Silence," the voice responded. Laskar could feel the man's breath on his face and he flinched away.  
  
"Look at me." the man purred, running the blade along his cheek. Shaking now in absolute terror, Laskar reluctantly forced his eyes open.  
  
He looked at a man wearing a dark stocking cap, a green army jacket, white muffler and jeans. His face was inches away from his own, gripping his throat so tight Laskar felt the need to gag. The eyes were hooded, cold, unblinking and dark; wholly threatening in the dim street light. The blade continued its slow, mesmerizing, stokes.  
  
"The name's Kostmayer." the man whispered. "Mickey Kostmayer and don't you ever forget it!"  
  
Already scared out of his wits, Laskar's eyes grew wider in horror.  
  
"If you say one word about me being in Wiscasett, I'm going to use this knife to skin you alive." Mickey hissed. The blade slipped.  
  
Laskar almost screamed as he gasped in air, feeling the knife cut along his jaw line and stop. He stared at Mickey, utterly shaking in fright. Too scared to feel any pain. Yet.  
  
"You tipped Control off last summer that I was in Wiscasett. I know all about it. You ever do that to me again and you will wish you were dead," Mickey breathed into his face. "You have my word on it."  
  
Laskar suddenly found himself falling onto his knees as Mickey released him. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he struggled for composure. Reaching up he put a hand to his face and looked at it. Blood stood out in a thin dark line across his hand. He looked up in time to see Kostmayer, swinging a duffel bag up onto one shoulder as he began walking down Shin Bone Aly. He never once looked back at Laskar.  
  
All Laskar knew for sure was that Kostmayer would keep his word.  
  
  
  
Reva sat at her dining room table, pencil in hand, staring at a large piece of drawing paper. Her other hand held her head up, pulling her hair back, hard. The fire and a single lamp near the couch provided the only light, leaving much of the house in darkness. The pencil was doing a strange, macabre dance across the paper like it had a mind of its own. All over the table were scattered other drawings. Scenes of Gavin Maxwell and his otters Mijbil and Edal had come to life under her pencil. The wild West Hebrides Coast of Scotland coming vividly alive as she attacked her illustrating assignment.  
  
Hidden amongst the drawings were several books on Scotland, several others on otters, all her previous sketches of the otter from the summer and other needed research. In the midst lay Toby, lazily flicking his tail as his half-shut eyes reflected the light of the fire in the hearth. He stretched nearly the width of the table.  
  
Reva herself looked terrible. Dark circles marred her eyes from lack of sleep, along with a pale gauntness from lack of eating. Her face was emotionless as she let the pencil waltz over the paper. She watched it like a distant spectator. Gone now were both sets of her stitches and she again wore her turtlenecks to hide her scars. The bruises from Masur's manhandling had all but faded away.  
  
The house was silent, save for the crackling of the fireplace and hum of appliances. Reva sketched on, until Toby brought his head up sharply and looked towards the front door. She frowned, lifted the pencil carefully and looked at him. The big Main Coon let out a little chirp, climbing to his feet and stretching luxuriantly. Reva watched him a moment as he opened his mouth wide in a yawn, then jumped down from the table.  
  
Smirking at him, Reva set the pencil down and rose. Only in a turtleneck, jeans and thick wooly, socks, Reva padded past the kitchen and down the short hall. Toby sauntered as he led the way and lazily flicked the tip of his thick, bushy tail back and forth in a comical question mark.  
  
Reva opened the door, allowing the porch light to come on as Toby meowed and darted out into the snow. The light flickered once and died. Scowling at it, Reva hung part way out the door and thumped the wall with her fist under the light. It let out a dim glow then died. She sighed, hitting the wall again with no luck. Shaking her head, she looked out at the road, towards a nearby street light and saw that it was snowing again. The world lay hushed and quiet under its winter blanket. Glancing towards the direction of the cat, she saw he had darted off into the nearby gardens. With a shrug she glared at the light and shut the door.  
  
She had just sat back down at the table, picking up her pencil, when her ears caught a muffled thump. Her head came up sharply, listening. A familiar jolt of fear coursed through her body. Frozen, she waited, then jumped when she heard the very distinctive sound of someone hitting the wall under her porch light.  
  
Like a shot she was off the chair, turning towards the computer desk in her living room. She nearly pulled the drawer out onto the floor as she reached in and grabbed for her pistol. Disengaging the safety, she gripped it two handed and cautiously began to edge her way down the hall towards the door.  
  
The glass on her door being frosted and the porch darkened, revealed only a large shape. Reva set her jaw, fingering the grip on her pistol as she pointed the weapon down. Cautiously she came up beside the door. Releasing her left hand she reached up and grasped the knob, barely hearing a muffled voice beyond the door. Taking in a deep breath, Reva jerked the door open and brought the gun up.  
  
Standing in the darkened doorway stood a bundled up figure, one arm holding her cat, the other reaching up to hit the wall under her light again. Just as it flickered and came on, a man's voice asked,  
  
"Guess what the cat dragged in?"  
  
Several things occurred at once.  
  
Reva stared at the man as she held her pistol on him. Jeans, army jacket, a thick white scarf, stocking hat. He was looking at her with a spark of mad mischief in his eyes until he realized she was holding a gun on him.  
  
Instantly the cat got dropped and a pair of black gloved hands flew up, waving briefly.  
  
"Whoa!" The man protested as the cat dashed inside the house.  
  
Reva stared at him as he reached up and pulled down his scarf. Her world suddenly began to grow dark and spin.  
  
  
  
Mickey stared at her, startled, as Reva looked at him in shock. The last thing he expected was to be greeted at the door with a .9mm. Worse was seeing her eyes roll back into her head as she began to pitch forward.  
  
He neatly caught her gun hand as she began to fall past him. "Reeve." He started as she made a small attempt at stopping her fall. Mickey moved. Catching her, he turned her around, carefully guiding her down the hall and somehow managed to get the door shut behind him. Her legs gave out as they reached the living room and he lowered her quickly to the floor in front of the fireplace.  
  
He hurriedly set the gun on the table, jerking his hat, gloves and scarf off. Wadding them in a ball, he dropped to the floor next to her. With care, he worked them under her head, then looked at the couch, reaching over to grab a pillow.  
  
"Reeve?" he asked when he heard a moan as he set her feet on the pillow. He looked at her as he worked at the buttons on his jacket. A quick yank on the zipper and his coat was being added under her feet. Mickey scrambled back up to her head.  
  
He looked at her, alarmed at the gauntness in her features. She looked terribly underweight. He stared at her as she moaned again, then he reached up and gently placed a hand on the side of her face while he propped himself up with the other.  
  
"Reeve?" he asked, concerned as she frowned, swallowed and began to open her eyes. She let out a gasp, sinking back down into his makeshift pillow as both hands came up to brace against his chest and push. He was looking at her with anxiety as she focused on his face.  
  
"Reva?" he barely whispered. Her hands flexed, sinking into his thick sweater as she stared at him in disbelief.  
  
"Mickey?" she said, very distinctly. Mickey blinked in surprise.  
  
"Y. you're gone, y. you. you're missing, d. dead. He sent you away, you. you're gone," she suddenly babbled, pushing at him. Mickey looked stricken.  
  
"Reeve." he said, astonished to hear an actual voice coming out of her and horrified at her belief that he was dead. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her as he sat back.  
  
"No, no, no, no, no." he shushed, stroking her hair, pulling it back off her face as she continued to stammer in disbelief. "Look at me. C'mon look at me..." he coaxed, gazing into her face. She stared at him, her eyes wet with tears.  
  
"Mickey?" she asked again. He smiled his odd, quirky smile at her.  
  
"Who else?" he murmured. She reached up then, touching his face, her fingers lightly brushing his lips.  
  
"Mickey!" she gasped and held on to him for dear life. Mickey buried his face in her hair, nearly crushing her to him in return.  
  
"I have missed you so much," he breathed in her ear. She suddenly began to shake. "All I could think about was getting back here to you." She pulled back again, looking at him, touching his face again. He smiled, holding her head in his hands, seeing the tears that threatened to spill from her grey eyes.  
  
"That's the last time I hitchhike through three war-zones and all of Mexico," he tipped his head slightly as she began to smile in return. A laugh suddenly began to bubble out, followed by a sob. He stared in wonder as she half-cried and half-laughed. He shook his head, marveling.  
  
"You're talking." he said in awe. Reva, slipping a hand to her mouth, nodded her head, looking at him as she struggled with whether to laugh or cry.  
  
"You hitch-hiked home?" she asked. Mickey began to chuckle.  
  
"Wasn't about to let Control have the satisfaction of debriefing me." he murmured, searching her face. He suddenly twisted around, not letting her go and dug around in his jacket. Reva began to shake again, only now she began to softly laugh. She shook her head, reaching up to touch his face gently when he turned back to her. She lightly caught her lower lip with her teeth, gazing at his features.  
  
"I'm so sorry about what happened in DC," Mickey said, stroking her hair. "That old guy's got more tricks than Houdini. I took care of his contact here, though," he said. "Dr. Laskar won't ever be reporting my presence to Control again."  
  
Reva looked at him in alarm. Mickey just shook his head.  
  
"I just warned him to back off," he murmured. "I wasn't about to risk all this time getting back here just to get yanked out, again." He stopped and looked at her, his expression changing. He held up the otter Beanie Baby between the two of them. The little critter, now sporting a tiny sombrero and criss-crossing bandoleers, seemed to smile as the firelight glinted off its beady black eyes. Reva blinked in surprise.  
  
"Okee wanted to come home," Mickey said quietly, lifting his eyes to look at her. He paused a moment as she looked at the toy. "He covered my back." he replied as he shrugged his shoulders. Reva looked back at him.  
  
"I think I love you, Reeve," he murmured softly, looking for all the world like a shy little boy. "I wanted to come back and take some time to find out. if you'll let me?"  
  
Reva was speechless, she could only gaze at him in wonder.  
  
"We've got a lot to talk about," he added quietly. Reva slowly nodded her head yes, never taking her eyes from his face. She slipped a hand over her mouth, her emotions still tumbling around inside of her, the tears sparkling in her eyes.  
  
  
  
Mickey pulled her to him, gently cupping her head as he bent his, lightly brushing his lips over her hand. She slipped her fingers along the side of his head, toying with his hair as his lips met hers. That first kiss seemed to last a lifetime, until she began to pull away to laugh again. She smiled, looking at him, running a finger gently along his lower lip.  
  
"What?" he asked, his voice low, as he played with the hair along the nape of her neck.  
  
"You hitchhiked all the way back?"  
  
"Better than walking. Would've taken me 'til Spring. Didn't want to wait that long." he murmured in her ear in reply, nuzzling the soft skin along her cheek. She began to laugh again, shivering. Mickey smiled and drew her back into a longer, far more lasting, embrace.  
  
  
  
Toby stretched out again on top of the dining room table, lazily twitching his tail, his eyes slowly lowering to half-mast as they reflected the light of the fire. A soft, warm, contentedness settled across him like a comfortable blanket. Nestling his head between his paws, he closed his eyes and began to purr.  
  
  
  
theteej2@hotmail.com 


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